Childhood Friends
by WackyGoofball
Summary: What if Jaime and Brienne had been childhood friends? My take on how things would have developed between the two if Brienne of Tarth had stumbled into the life of Jamie Lannister if they had been children of the same age. What will happen to the two? Read to find out ;) Obviously AU, possibly OCC-ish at times. More warnings inside, so you have been warned twice. Enjoy!
1. When Jaime met Brienne

Author's Note:

Hello everyone! Welcome to my first Game of Thrones fic. Feel free to hum the theme music now if you like ;)

I felt inspired to fangirl a bit about the relationship between one of my newly found OTPs, Brienne and Jaime. Now I know that some people think it is only platonic and all, but I still like the idea of them being together. At least I don't think it's impossible. I think Brienne really brings out the best in Jaime - to the point that I even forget about this whole incest situation... a bit, which surely means something.

As I started thinking about possible scenarios, one popped into my head and wouldn't leave me since: What if Jaime and Brienne had been childhood friends?

Hence, this story started to flicker over my computer since.

Given that as a premise, I suppose it goes without saying that this is AU.

It might be a bit OOC-ish, I don't know yet. I suppose it might be true for Brienne in a way, because I stress her acting like a boy – and not the whole arc of trying to be like a girl, and fail, though it may come in, too. I don't have it all figured out yet.

I only watched the series and am starting on the novels. References to the books are based on internet research. So please, be gentle with me. I am doing my best to be accurate, but no one is perfect, right?

I arranged them to have roughly the same age to have their relationship develop, standing on equal grounds. With fourteen years apart (if I remember correctly), it would be hard to have them interact the way I wish to portray it. At the same time, this means that Jaime's mother died a bit earlier, too, or else it would be still too fresh for him when he first meets Brienne, I fear.

The focus won't be much on the happenings in the canon, if at all. Politics are too complicated for me at times, especially those of the GOT world. So I focus on their relationship and how it develops through time. I may take up on some happenings of the canon, but only those I can and want to integrate into my story. Once again, that's not entirely out yet. Hence the AU warning.

English is not my native language – and I don't speak the "archaic tongue", so if it sounds too modern or so, please bear in mind that this is not my mother tongue either. I try my best to keep up the vibe the best I can.

The story is un-beta'd. All mistakes are mine, though I hope that you forgive me, keeping in mind that I am no native.

I hope you will like the story anyway.

Reviews are welcome and ever so much appreciated.

Hopefully you'll enjoy ;)

* * *

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own anything. At all. Can't afford it.

* * *

Jaime Lannister doesn't know what to think when the news reach him that guests are to arrive at Casterly Rock to visit his father. They come from a place he has never heard about. To tell the truth, he wouldn't know where to find it on a map.

The Sapphire Isles.

Tarth.

And that even though Tywin told him that they don't even have sapphires. Names are really misleading.

Selwyn of Tarth will seemingly stay a while, or so his father informed him, to attend business with the head of the Lannister family. While there are no sapphires in Tarth, it is seemingly still rich enough for his father to be interested in dealing with its leader. Not that Jaime is concerned with politics much, very much to his father's dismay and anger, but a boy of seven is more interested in jest and quarrel, stealing fruit from the kitchen, and skipping rocks over the sea.

And that is also what he would rather do at this point, but _no_ , of course his father wouldn't let him. Instead, Jaime, as the eldest son, is supposed to show Lord Selwyn's daughter around.

Surely some stupid goose like his cousins or the other geese his father invites over way too frequently to Jaime's liking.

"Now c'mon, we don't have all day," Tywin hisses. Jaime is pulled back to the reality of walking with his father to the front door to greet the guests.

Cersei got lucky because she could convince their father that she was feeling ill, though Jaime knows that she just didn't want to have to do with the guests. Tyrion is still too small and wails all the time. And that leaves Jaime as the poor bastard who has to tend to the goose.

"Do I really have to?" he asks, biting his lower lip.

"You _really_ have to," Tywin replies, sounding annoyed. Not that Jaime knows his father to talk to him in another way. His father is always annoyed.

"But why?" he pouts.

"Because I am your father and I tell you to. You are a Lannister, so you are expected to fulfil your role," Tywin replies, his voice as cold as ice.

And if Tywin Lannister, by any chance, doesn't sound annoyed, then he has the ice in his voice. If winter is coming, as the Starks pray, it must be him to announce it.

"But Father," Jaime exhales dramatically, but Tywin interrupts him with a hiss, "Not one more word from you. Now come and meet our guests."

They reach the grand front door and step on the staircase. Jaime glances into the sun, then looks down the stone stairs, waiting for the surely pink-dressed goose to giggle and blush in his presence, to tipple-toe from left to right, and ask him to play _Prince and Princess_ with him.

That is when two figures appear on the staircase, accompanied by some of their guards. Jaime tries to spot the goose, but there are just the Lord Selwyn and a squire, or so it seems. Maybe his cupbearer? Or some servant?

"I thought I was to show the Lord's daughter around," Jaime grimaces, tilting his head in confusion.

"You are," Tywin says, a small frown on his face as well. That is when Lord Selwyn reaches the top, along with the blond, short-haired boy with freckles, ridiculously long arms and legs, full lips, striking sapphire eyes, and a nose that is beyond repair. It was surely broken a few times by now.

"Milord Tywin, it is the greatest pleasure to meet you," the Lord greets him, bowing hastily. Jaime thinks that the man looks rather kind, at least he sounds kind, kinder than his father by far. Tywin bows back, "The pleasure is on our side, Lord Selwyn. Though I can't help but wonder… You let me know that you would bring your daughter along?"

"Well, I did," the man replies almost sheepishly. "My apologies, Milord, but in the morning, we couldn't find the gown I had tailored for her."

He turns to the boy with narrowed eyes.

"Oh," Tywin can't help but say.

"She…," Jaime says, craning his neck.

"This is my daughter, Brienne," Ser Selwyn says, pointing at the boy… girl.

"I threw the thing into the ocean," is the first thing she says, with a swell of pride in her flat chest. Her voice is that of a girl – and seemingly the only thing about her that is girlish. Jaime can't help but stare. He never saw a girl like that, if she even is. At some point, he is still unsure.

"Very unfortunate events led to the point that she had nothing to wear but this. I hope you do not take it as an insult, Lord Tywin," her father says in an utmost apologetic voice.

"Oh, no, of course not," Tywin replies. Jaime knows that his father _does_ take offence in it, but Tywin knows better than to let on his emotions.

"You see, she is my only child, after her siblings passed away so tragically. I know I am sometimes too soft on her, but…," Lord Selwyn goes on, but Jaime's father holds up his hands, "Well, maybe being around _my_ children will teach her a bit of proper behaviour."

"I surely hope that they will rub off on her in a way," the other man nods eagerly. Brienne just presses her tongue against the inside of her cheek.

"So? Will _you_ teach me to be a Lady or what?" Brienne suddenly speaks up again, her eyes fixed on Jaime.

"Brienne!" her father scolds her.

"What? He looks like a girl!" Brienne insists.

"And you don't!" Jaime cries out, feeling offended.

"Good, because that is what I want!" Brienne yells.

"Oh my," Lord Selwyn makes a face. "Well, at least they... already talk."

Tywin takes a moment of silent contemplation, his cold eyes fixed on the girl, but then focuses on Lord Selwyn again, his voice calm but also threatening, "Jaime, why don't you show young Lady Brienne around? Lord Selwyn and I have some discussion due."

"I am no Lady," Brienne mutters under her breath, bowing her head.

"I think she is just tired from the long voyage," her father tries to explain.

"I suppose so," Tywin agrees.

"Fine, c'mon then," Jaime grunts dismissively, waving at the boy-girl to follow him. He just wants to get over with this business.

"But…," Brienne turns to her father hopefully, but he just glares at her, "Go."

Brienne growls as she trots after the girlish boy, crossing her arms over her chest.

"The children…," Lord Selwyn grimaces, coughing lightly out of sheer nervousness.

"Let's turn to business, shall we?" Tywin suggests.

"Yes, of course," the other man agrees and follows the head of the Lannister clan inside.

* * *

Jaime thought that a goose tagging along was the worst that could happen to him, but now he is stuck with this boy-girl.

Really, he will pull on Cersei's hair all evening to make her regret that she left him alone with the task.

"So… this is Casterly Rock. We have lots of old things here, none of which you are supposed to touch. This is a corridor, in case you don't know what a corridor is…," Jaime explains in a flat voice, making his annoyance no secret.

"I know what a corridor is. I am not stupid," Brienne hisses from behind him. Jaime has any intention to keep the tour short, and then go back to tell Cersei about that ridiculous new guest of the house.

"Really? That comes as a surprise," Jaime grins mischievously.

"What was that?" Brienne snarls, her fists clenching.

" _Nothing_. So, this is a window… oh, and over there we have what we call a door…," Jaime goes on. "I don't know what I am really supposed to show you. I reckon I could show you the Great Hall… or your room. How about your room, huh?"

That would certainly be the easiest of options: Just show her the chamber and lock the door. Jaime's excitement grows as he thinks about the idea. He turns around to ask again, just to find the corridor empty.

"This has to be some kind of joke!" he cries out.

She couldn't have gotten far, could she? Jaime looks around frantically. His father will kill him if he were to find out that he lost the Lord's daughter after no more than five minutes.

"C'mon out! I take it back, alright?!" the young Lannister yells as he walks back the way they came from.

Not that he has any intention to take it back, but he has to bargain.

Jaime walks past a window, but then turns back around.

"Are you out of your mind?!" he shrieks as he sees Brienne standing on the windowsill. Will she jump to death now? Oh, his father will be _so_ mad at him.

"Brienne, please, I take it back, but don't jump," Jaime cries out, fear tugging at him.

He _will_ take it back if she doesn't jump, Jaime thinks to himself, hoping that the Gods will hear him.

"Coward," is the only thing Brienne says before she jumps. Jaime cries out, trying to grab her, but Brienne just disappears out of his sight. He leans over the sill and looks down, only to see that there is an open wagon underneath the window, filled with hay.

The girl emerges out of the hay, perfectly unharmed, the hay sticking out from her blond hair in all directions. She twists around on her heel, both hands on her waist and grins up at Jaime. Even from up there he can see the teeth missing.

"That witch," Jaime growls. She just wanted to scare him! She knew that there was this heap of hay underneath he to cushion the fall.

That is certainly the strangest goose he has ever met, and Jaime met strange geese before.

Brienne waves at him as she starts to walk away.

"Hey! Wait up!" he yells, furious.

Brienne laughs to herself. There is no way that some Goldie Curl like this prince, if he is one, will show her around and mock her. _No way_. She will explore this place on her own, and then decide if she hates it completely, or only just a little bit.

It's enough that her father forced her to come along. Brienne wants to learn to use the longbow, and not let royals stare at her. She has enough of that at home. And those are people she knows. Here, Brienne is a complete stranger, and only has her father to guard her. But she will not show weakness. She will fight all of them if she has to.

Brienne of Tarth doesn't need anyone, well, except for her father. But the rest can go to the Seven Hells and back.

She looks around, trying to spot something interesting, but that is when she hears a thud behind her, and sees hay flying through the air like snow. And out of the heap of hay steps a pouting Goldie Curl, his hair standing up in all the wrong ways, making him look like a lion.

An angry lion.

For a moment, she is honestly surprised. Brienne didn't think he'd have it in him to jump.

"You stupid WENCH!" Jaime shrieks. His face is red with anger as he grabs her by the arm, "What in the Seven Hells are you thinking, jumping out of the window like that?!"

Brienne studies his face. Because, for a small moment, she is convinced that he is worried about her. But that cannot possibly be. Because he is a man, or will be one one day, and men don't worry about women. She learned that the very hard way.

"My, my, are you Lannisters too fine for some simple fun?" she says with a playful smile, hoping that he won't see what is behind that smile.

"You are…," he means to say, but Brienne won't let him speak, "So? Is there anything interesting to do here? Or do you just sit around and drink juice from golden cups?"

"I am to show you around, which is what we'll do," Jaime replies determinedly.

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" she pouts.

"Yes, I do," he says, pushing her forward. "Jumping out of the window. If you dare to lose a word about that to my Father, then…"

"Then what?" she challenges him.

"Then I will tell your father, and he will give you one of my sister's dresses to wear for the rest of your stay," Jaime grins. "And I will tell my sister to braid your hair so tightly that your scalp will hurt."

"You would not," she grumbles.

"Test me," he grins, and adds with annoyance: "So? What do you want to see?"

"My room," she replies solemnly, her voice suddenly as small as a sparrow.

Jaime knows that he should be relieved that he finally won, but the sound of her voice attacks something very deeply within him, making him cringe. The Lannister boy stops, turning around slightly, speaking in a softer voice this time, "You just can't do that, with the jumping. It's dangerous. If something happened to you, my Father would surely blame me for it."

"I want to go to my room," Brienne repeats in a flat voice, not meeting his gaze. Jaime tilts his head. How can someone morph from a foulmouthed boy to a girl on the verge of tears, too afraid to meet another person's eyes?

"I will not ask my sister for the dress or the braids, alright?" he tells her, surprised at himself that he finds himself comforting her mere seconds after he wanted to slap her.

"My. Room," she says again, forcing the words out of her set jaws, her voice betraying her.

Why now? She had it planned so well. Brienne planned everything in advance, while on the voyage to Casterly Rock. She knew when exactly to get rid of the dresses, when no one would look. She knew exactly how she wanted to approach these new people. Brienne wanted them to keep away from her, so that she could be by herself. That is why she decided to present herself in the way she is back home in Tarth, wearing boy's clothing, fighting and spitting the world right in the face.

She didn't want to be meek again, the way she usually is when meeting strangers, not getting her jaws apart to even utter her name. She wanted to be confident and strong, independent, herself.

But now, all of this seems so far away. And she feels just like she did back home, when she tried to play according to the rules, and failed miserably, making herself even more of a freak than she is anyways.

Now they will force her in a dress and she will be laughed at. She is rather frowned upon than laughed at.

"C'mon, I will show you the garden. It's nice there," Jaime suggests, honestly at a loss. Cersei never acts like that. She yells at him, or throws things, but she never stands there with fists clenched, tears on her lashes, trembling, and unable to speak.

Cersei _always_ talks, often to his annoyance.

Brienne turns her head away. She never should have done it. She should have listened to her father. She should have just gone with the Lannister boy, let him finish the small tour and then stay in her room. Because now that arrogant Goldie Curl sees her on the verge of tears, for whatever the reason that her body decides to cry now.

Why didn't she do what she did before? Bow her head, say nothing at all, and endure the small chuckles at her freakish appearance? But it is over now.

She hates it here.

And more than anything, Brienne just wants to be back in Tarth now, glance at the open sea and dream about the life she could have if she were born a boy.

"I bet I will be there first. I am faster than you?" Jaime goes on, hoping to somehow stir a reaction. He cannot tell for sure what makes him. Maybe it is the fact that he can't stand girls crying.

And just maybe he was a bit harsh on her.

But _just_ maybe.

Brienne stares at him, her sapphire eyes flashing back at him once. She quickly ducks her head again. Jaime honestly doesn't know what to make of the boy-girl.

However, much to his surprise, and honest delight, she reacts after all, "No one has beaten me in a race – ever."

"Well, you didn't race against me yet," Jaime grins. "No one's faster than me."

"But you have the advantage that you know this place," she argues, the air returning to her lungs.

Maybe Casterly Rock is not the worst of all places after all?

"Straight ahead till the fork, then left, then right, then right again. Then you can't miss it," Jaime grins. "Do you think you can remember or do I have to…?"

But that is when she already runs ahead, giggling in pure delight.

"Hey, that's unfair, wench!" he curses, running after her.

Brienne skips down the corridors, her feet flying over the stones.

And for once, she is glad not to run from a room, but towards a place.

Jaime grins, picking up speed.

He shall be damned if Brienne, he means to say 'wench', beats him in his own game.

There is no way that Jaime will lose to Brienne.

He will show her for sure.

And that is how Brienne of Tarth jumped into the life of Jaime Lannister.


	2. Stories

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around!

And thanks for the first review 3

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, too ^^

* * *

Ever since Selwyn of Tarth came to Casterly Rock, Jaime is bound to spend his time with the Lord's daughter. After that one moment where she allowed weakness to show, Brienne grew ever the more annoying in his opinion. Cersei has her dear fun at his expenses, mocking him again and again that he has to play the boy-girl's friend now.

Cersei saw Brienne for dinner the first time – and laughed out so loud and so hysterically when they were introduced to each other that Father, if discretely, had Cersei removed from the dinner table the first chance he got.

Jaime had never seen his Tywin as apologetic as he had been to Lord Selwyn, assuring him that Cersei had been ill previously, which seemingly led to her clouded mind. The Lord of Tarth had reassured him that it was alright and that his daughter usually stirred such reaction.

Brienne, forced to wear a dress that evening, said nothing to all of that. She just stood there, her small fists flexing, her jaw set tightly, and her eyes fixed on the stone tiles of the dining room.

And Jaime, though he would never say so aloud, was almost shocked to see Brienne in a dress. She looked really ridiculous in it. Like two pieces that don't belong together. In fact, she looks better in men's clothing, especially since the dress managed to drain the last spark out of her sapphire eyes to the point that they were almost hollow.

Brienne had excused herself from the dinner table once they finished the desserts that evening, and told Jaime's father with utmost politeness that she felt unwell after the long voyage and wanted to go to bed, which is what she did.

The small scandal hence freed Cersei of the responsibility to take care of the guest. Jaime's father does so, of course, to bypass further disturbances to the business he has with Lord Selwyn. However, Jaime is irritated that his sister is fortunately punished for laughing at her, while he is constantly battling with the boy-girl and is still unfortunately unpunished.

Well, perhaps it is really that their fighting is perceived as jesting among boys.

Or it is the fact that Brienne was close to tears after Cersei's accusing laughter – and all had seen it. No one can bear crying girls, the least the men.

And so he spends his time fighting and bickering and teasing and being annoyed and all these other things at once, forced to keep close to the Tarth boy-girl.

At this very moment, Jaime is in the garden with her. He suggested that they could fight with his wooden swords, something that she had readily agreed to. It came as a surprise to him, to be honest. Cersei didn't want to battle with swords in a long time, and even if he convinced her when still younger, she never enjoyed it. Brienne, by contrast, seems to love it.

Jaime didn't expect her to be… that good, though. He wants to be a knight one day, so he trains a lot, but Brienne disarms him within mere seconds at times.

"That was unfair, wench!" he pouts, picking up his wooden sword again. She had kicked him in the foot to make him stumble and lose grip on the sword.

"There are no rules in battle," she argues sternly.

"Of course there are. You don't just kick someone and then hit! I have trainers, you see? They teach me exactly how to do this. And in a sword fight, you don't use that move. That's dirty," he insists.

"Oh, I bet your teachers keep telling you that you are the best sword fighter out there, a prodigy, no?" she teases him, before she goes on in a mocking voice: " _Yes, Ser Jaime, just like that, Ser Jaime. Oh, you beat me, Ser Jaime. Oh, I can't go on anymore, Ser Jaime, your skills are too far enhanced already_!"

Brienne learned to fight earlier than she picked up a sword for the first time, and surely long before Goldie Curl was given the fanciest of wooden swords to begin his training. She fought boys with bare hands to make them stop mocking her, until her father agreed to let her learn how to fight and protect herself properly. And even when her father had trainers assigned to her, none of them ever went easy on her.

You have to fight with everything you have, easy as that.

Jaime picks up the sword once more, charging her instantly. Brienne dodges, whipping the sword out of his hand again with little effort, "You won't beat anyone like that. If you keep fighting like this, you'll be dead before you know it, Blondie Curl."

"You are ugly!" Jaime cries out, honestly at a loss. He is used to winning. He is used to being the best. He is used to praise and applause, but she beats him, mocks him. That can't be.

That simply can't be.

"You are a tart!" she retorts angrily. Not that Brienne is hurt much by being called 'ugly'. She has been for… probably ever since she was born. She knows she is not beautiful, not even passable for a girl. So no, it doesn't hurt her…

 _Much_.

Just small needles in her neck.

" _Tart_? That's what _you_ are. Brienne of Tart. That's your name from now on!" Jaime grins with mischievous glee.

"You will _not_ call me that!" the girl curses.

"What did you say, Milady _Tart_? I didn't quite hear you?" Jaime snickers.

"Stop it!" she yells.

"Or what?" Jaime challenges her. He doesn't see the fist coming, just feels his behind colliding with the ground, and his cheek pulsating with pain. He bites back tears.

It's not that Brienne intended to punch him, but she cannot stand it when someone accuses her family name. Because that means someone is accusing her family. And she loves her father too dearly to let even the oldest Lannister son mock her name.

Her name is the only thing that makes her a highborn.

If she isn't a Lady by the looks or behaviour, she is still one by name.

However, when she sees him crying, discomfort boils up within her. No one can bear crying boys, the least the women.

Brienne stares at him in utter bewilderment, "You… are you _crying_?!"

"That hurt, you wench!" he growls, furiously wiping at his eyes.

"Oh, by the Gods, if all men are like you, then there won't ever be one to beat me," Brienne puts both her hands on her hips, turning around on the heel.

" _I_ will beat you!" Jaime pouts, rubbing his cheek to ease some of the pain.

"If you ever stop crying, then maybe," Brienne narrows her eyes at him.

"I am not…," he means to say, but she interrupts him, "You are crying like a damn woman. Now get up and fight!"

Jaime stares at her.

What?

Brienne nods at the sword, "Pick it up. Men don't cry. And if they do, they wipe the tears away, and then take out the enemy. They get back up and fight. So pick it up, c'mon! Beat me this time!"

The Lannister boy gets back to his feet, sniffling once, but then sets his jaw, getting in position, "I will make you pay for this."

"Bring it on, Blondie Curl."

* * *

Brienne of Tarth is most definitely not Jaime's friend. She is his archenemy, obviously. She was sent to him by the Seven to test him. He couldn't ever be a wench's friend.

Cersei keeps teasing him that Brienne is his new best friend now, something he takes great offence in, obviously so. His best friend is Cersei after all. She is his other half. They shared their mother's womb, and to the day a bond reaching deeper than the sea's deepest point.

He really wished she would just go back to her Sapphire Isles. The name, or so he learned by now, doesn't come from the sapphires there, but from the colour of the waters around it. They are the same colour as Brienne's eyes, at least that is how Jaime pictures the isles inside his head now whenever he hears the name.

Not that he pictures Brienne's eyes or Brienne in general in any way.

She is an ugly wench.

Today, he is forced to sit with this ugly wench in her room and pretend that he is only slightly interested in her or what she is up to.

"What are you doing?" he asks, one hand under his chin as he sits cross-legged on the ground, blowing the words out of his mouth, forcing some of his golden curls out of his eyes.

"Reading," she tells him calmly.

"Can't we go sword fighting again? I will beat you this time for sure," he bargains. His father had him specifically instructed to spend the whole day with her, since Lord Selwyn was seemingly very pleased with how Brienne was faring "thanks to the Milord's son". Jaime overheard the two men discussing in his father's study the other day. Brienne's father said that she usually does not speak up in front of strangers, that she is "hesitant" and "shy", but that Jaime, for some reason, seemingly brings out her liveliness.

Frankly speaking, Jaime can't picture that Brienne is even capable of shyness. A girl who, against any rule of etiquette, joins a boy in a burp contest, is by no means shy in Jaime's view.

Yet, taking the matter of her possible shyness aside, Jaime now finds himself ever the more under the obligation to be around Brienne. He hoped that she would continue to play boys' games with him, sword fights and races through the corridors, but today, she sits on the windowsill… _reading_. And Jaime has to watch her… _reading_. Really, the only upside he saw in his task was that she was at least an active person, and liked fighting, but now even that seems to fall away.

"You can do whatever you want," she argues, not looking up from her book. "I want to read this book."

"Books are boring," Jaime snorts. In fact, he finds them frightening most of the time. "And I can't just do what I want because Father told me to stay around you."

"Well, then you will have to find yourself some other thing to do. I want to read this book, and that is what I will do," Brienne shrugs, her eyes seemingly glued to the page.

"What are you reading?" he asks to pass the time.

"This book?" she replies. Jaime looks at her in annoyance, making a face, "No, really?"

"Well, you can read the title page, no?" she argues, holding it out to him. Jaime turns his face away, his golden hair falling into his eyes. Brienne studies him uncertainly. She was not aware that she insulted him with that utterance.

Really, Lannisters are difficult people.

"What is the matter with you?" she asks, but Jaime draws his knees up to his chest, not looking at her. Brienne wriggles her nose. Perhaps it is his revenge for the first day she came to Casterly Rock and treated him with silence as well.

"It's one of my favourite books," she goes on, keeping her voice rather light. "Have you read it by any chance? _The Travelling Knight_?"

Jaime shakes his head, biting his lower lip.

Really, this girl is such a wench!

"You should read it. It's really good," she tells him. While teasing became a constant between the two, Brienne feels uneasy about his reaction just now. She would rather have him cry than like this, to be honest.

"Did I say something that offended you?" she asks.

"I don't like reading," he replies, biting his lower lip.

"Well, that certainly is a hardship. The highborns are required to," she grimaces.

"Don't you think I know that?" he spats.

"I did not mean to insult you. You asked what I was doing," she argues. If she is not mistaken, there are unshed tears glistening on his long, thick lashes now.

Really, that boy is too handsome to be true at some point. He is so pretty that it makes her sick. Like one of those dolls her father brings from his voyages, the ones she usually puts away in the giant wooden case in her room, or as she calls it in secret, "The Grave". Brienne wants to punch the prettiness out of him most of the time.

And even if not out of Jaime, at least out of his mean sister. Brienne doesn't really like Cersei, no, she hates her. Brienne knows that she is ugly, but that does not give the pretty girl any right to laugh at her. Cersei can have the longest thatch of golden-bronze hair all she wants, she can have the brightest eyes in all of the Seven Kingdoms, can be as graceful as a swan, but that does not, really does _not_ give her any right to laugh at her. And even if it did, Brienne would rather die than not defend herself against that circumstance.

Sometimes, Brienne wants to beat up the entire world for being prettier than her, for being better than her. That is why she likes fighting so much. Covered in mud and scratches, all look the same kind of ugly. The battlefield is no place for beauty.

And that is why it is her place of choice.

Her place to be.

"I can lend the book to you some time," she suggests, more hopefully than she would like to admit.

"I will pass," he mutters.

"If I did something wrong to make you weep like a woman, then tell me," Brienne breaks out. Jaime looks at her aghast, but then his shoulders slump down, "I am not… good at it."

"Reading?" she frowns. He gives a small nod.

"And that's what makes you upset?" she tilts her head.

"Not _upset_. I just don't like to be reminded of it," Jaime admits.

"I hated books at first," Brienne then says.

"Really?" he asks, almost hopefully, but then he restrains himself to a blanker expression. He shall be damned if he shows weakness in front of the wench.

She nods, "I wanted to play outside, not stay inside and put letters together in order."

"Right?" he asks, with a bit more enthusiasm than he had thought. Brienne is the first one to finally say that. Cersei likes reading, his father has to, and everyone he asks points out to Jaime that it is a very important skill for a royal.

"But then my father started giving me stories to read. And that is when I understood why people like reading so much," Brienne explains. "Because if you read a story, then you can see the pictures inside your head. Once you see the pictures, the words just come to you."

"The words don't come to me much at all. If only, they dance around me and make me dizzy," Jaime admits. "The letters always end up in the wrong order for some reason. Father makes me practice hours, but it doesn't help."

"Does he give you stories to read?" Brienne asks. Jaime shakes his head. "Well, there you go. That is certainly the reason. You have to read stories. Stories have order, you see? And that means the words and letters follow that order. If it is just word after word, isolated, then of course they jumble and dance upon your nose."

"I tried to read stories, but it didn't work either," Jaime argues. Brienne jumps off the sill and settles down next to him. Jaime frowns, "What now?"

"You say you don't understand stories when you read them. That means you have to hear them first. Then you know what direction the story goes – and the words will follow. It was the same for me with learning the songs. I listened to them until I knew them by heart. Now I can write them all down, if someone asked me to," Brienne explains, surprised at how confident she feels all of a sudden.

Jaime tilts his head at the book curiously, "So what am I supposed to do?"

"Listen," she says in a small voice. Brienne coughs lightly as she flips to the beginning of the book.

"You will lose your page," Jaime argues.

"You won't understand the story if you don't know what happened from the beginning on," Brienne argues. "You have to start at the beginning. You have to travel with the story. So now, listen carefully."

Jaime tilts his head to look at her and the book. Brienne licks her lips, "Once upon a time, there was a knight. He was the best in all the lands of the kingdom. He had spent all his life refining his skill to fulfil his oath to the king to guard him and the kingdom. One day, the wise king had the knight step before him to tell him that he was to go on a quest. He was to find an old relict holding magical powers out of epic proportions. The knight, of course, readily agreed, and vowed to his sweet king to fulfil his duties. And so the knight set out on his journey, accompanied only by his trusty steed and the thirst for adventure. What the travelling knight did not know was that he was to go on the greatest adventure of his life entire…"

How much she wished to be that knight at times.

Jaime looks at her expectantly.

"So, that was the introduction. Now you have heard the story, right?" she goes on, trying to distract herself from the longings boiling deep within her.

"Yes," Jaime agrees. He can't remember the last time someone read a story to him. The nurses did, but his father didn't really care, so the stories soon faded from his ears and Jaime was even sooner confronted with the world of letters.

"So now, you read it again," Brienne says, holding the book out to him. "And don't you dare just repeat the words after me from memory. Read them off the page."

Jaime licks his lips, focusing on the words. What happened in the introduction again? Oh, right. There was the knight who served his king and the kingdom, but then his king called out for him and set him out on a quest to find some magical object.

"Once upon a time, there was a… a knight," Jaime reads slowly. The words are so difficult at times, especially if they don't sound the same way they are written. "He was the best in all the lands of the kingdom."

"That's right, and what happened next?" Brienne asks.

"You silly, you know how the story goes," Jaime rolls his eyes. He knows very well when someone is belittling him.

"You are telling the story now, not I," she argues simply. "It's yours now."

Jaime grimaces, but then goes on reading, "He had spent all his life refining his skill to fulfil his… o… oh…"

And there it is again.

"Oath. You should always remember that word. It's one of the most important," Brienne tells him with a small smile. "If not the most important of them all."

"Oath," Jaime repeats, reading the word again. So these letters mean 'oath'. "He had spent all his life refining his skill to fulfil his oath to the king to guard him and the kingdom. One day, the wise king had the… knight step before him to tell him that he were to go on a… a quest."

Jaime looks at the page with growing bewilderment. The letters don't dance around anymore. Their moves still their movements, as though someone put a leash on them. A small smile flashes over his lips.

"He was to find an old… relict holding magical powers. The knight, of course, readily agreed, and set out on his journey, accompanied only by his trusty steed. What the travelling knight did not know was that he was to go on the greatest adventure of his life entire," Jaime reads aloud, his smile growing with each word he gets out upon first try.

"Keep going," Brienne encourages him.

"On the… first day, he met an old… witch. She gave him a book… the book of words and, and spells," Jaime goes on. "The knight was… confused. He didn't know any words other than his name. And so the… witch told him that… that the book contains all he must know. The knight travelled to the next… city, where he met a talking… eagle. And the eagle said to him that… that the relict was no relict, but alive. The eagle gave him one of his… feathers as he bid him farewell. When the knight travelled through shadowy woods…"

And so Jaime goes on reading, devouring the words, capturing them with his eyes.

He commands them now.

Jaime begins to tell his own story.


	3. Sailing Away

Author's Note: Thanks for reading and following and favoriting! You are too kind!

I hope you'll like this chapter, too ^^

Leave reviews if you like, I welcome them all into my open arms ;)

* * *

Jaime hurries down the corridors to Brienne's chamber. His father told him yesterday eve that the Tarths were to sail back to their isles without sapphires.

And the Lannister son feels utterly disappointed over the fact that it was his father who delivered the news, when he had spent the entire day with Brienne, pulling her hair and shooting stones with slingshots, but the wench did not say a single word about their departure.

The wench practically lied to him!

 _Of course_ , he is glad to finally get rid of the annoying wench.

Life will go its usual ways again.

He can be around Cersei again, all day long.

He can train fighting with his tutors, who always play according to the rules, and who would never challenge him by calling him names or telling him to get himself together and try once more.

He will be a free man again, free to do whatever he wants.

Jaime rejoices, he does.

He _does_.

He is _glad_ that Brienne will go away and hopefully never come back.

He couldn't possibly be gladder.

And that is what he is going to tell the wench, too. Or else the dumb goose might get the foolish idea that he is upset about her leaving - or, far worse, jump to the conclusion that he will miss her by any chance.

Jaime reaches her door and goes inside without knocking. He never knocks on her door.

... Never _again_ , that is.

"You are supposed to knock," Brienne greets him with a sigh. Though she had to learn that Jaime never knocks on her door. He just comes inside and sits down, or starts to bug her.

Or well, he knock _ed_ on her door. He _came_ inside. He _sat_ down. He bugg _ed_ her.

That is all over now.

 _Finally_.

Finally she can return back home and fight the boys who call her names. She can make them eat dust again.

Finally she can be among people who... who got used to her ugliness.

Finally she can rid herself of the Lannister family, especially his awful twin sister, who has nothing but scorn for her.

Finally she doesn't have to bother herself with the pretty boy and his tears anymore, or his mockery, or how he calls her 'wench'.

Finally... it's over.

Finally she is a free woman again, free of Jaime Lannister.

What a relief!

"Father said that you are leaving," Jaime blurts out saying.

"By noon, yes…," Brienne agrees.

"Was there any certain reason why you did not tell me, wench?" he demands.

"I didn't think you'd care?" she replies with a shrug.

"Of course I don't," he snorts, wrinkling his nose.

"Good," she hisses through gritted teeth. "For neither do I. Or rather, I do care, I am relieved, quite obviously."

"Surely not as relieved as I am," Jaime retorts. "I am the gladdest person in Westeros."

She doesn't dare to look at him. Instead, she busies herself with packing her bags. Brienne doesn't want him to see, so she smiles as she says, "As sure as the Seven Hells are boiling hot am I glad to finally get out of here."

"So am I," Jaime repeats.

He will be a free man again.

Free of Brienne of Tarth.

Free of the ugly wench!

"Good!" she curses.

"Good!" he yells back.

Why is he yelling again?

Brienne bites her lip. It's better that way. She is used to people hating her. To have someone missing her seems so utterly ridiculous that she could laugh out loud at the mere thought.

There is no way in the Seven Hells that someone would miss her, beside her father, of course.

And most definitely will Jaime Lannister not miss her, at all.

Just as she will not miss him.

"Then I wish you farewell!" he adds angrily, showing his white teeth.

"I wish you farewell, too! I hope I will never have to see you again!" she growls. Jaime turns around on the heel and runs out of the room.

Brienne goes on packing in her last remains. She has to remove herself from this place.

Because this is not her place to be at all.

* * *

Jaime doesn't know why he goes back to her room another time. At some point, he just got up from his bed, after he had been brooding for a while, and his feet dragged him in that direction. He didn't know what was happening to him until he stood inside Brienne's former chamber. The only thing he knows is that suddenly he stands inside the room, and that even though the Tarths took off not long ago to take a ship away from Casterly Rock.

Brienne told him a few days back that they would be on the high seas for a while because her father has other meetings in the country to attend.

Not that Jaime cares. The main point is that the wench is gone. Even though he fears that the wench put a spell on him to command his feet to the room another time.

He walks around and over to the bed Brienne slept on before, now neatly made, as though she had never been there.

And he is so glad that she is gone.

 _So_ glad.

Jaime tilts his head as he sees the book he started reading with Brienne's help lying on the bedsheet.

Did she forget it there?

However, as he means to pick it up, he sees that there is a small note atop. Jaime lets out a small growl.

That tart! She knows he struggles with reading - and has no better to do than to leave him a written note! She surely left it there only as a last mockery of hers.

Really, he is so, _so_ glad that the wench left.

Jaime picks up the slip of parchment, hoping that the letters won't dance too fast. He doesn't want to give the wench that bit of satisfaction.

 _Keep this story._

 _And keep reading it._

 _Make it yours, Blondie Curl._

Jaime stares at the parchment still in hand. This is actually... kind.

What happened to the evil wench?

And what is that uneasy feeling in his stomach and his chest?

Jaime starts running this time, the parchment flying to the ground soundlessly as he slips out of her room, out into the corridor. He runs faster than he did when he raced with Brienne. He runs faster than ever. Down the corridors, down the staircases, skipping two stairs at a time, until he reaches the front, ignoring the sunlight blinding his eyes.

He can hear some of the guards yelling at him to stop and stay where he is, but Jaime slips away from them before they ever have a chance to grab him, down the stairs, through the alleys, past people rich and poor alike, until he inhales salty air and the port comes into sight. He almost stumbles once he reaches the wooden landing stage. His eyes search the ship Brienne and her father might be on, and in fact he can spot one with the Tarth's family banner whipping in the wind.

"Brienne!" he yells atop of his voice, looking around frantically. This must be the ship, it must be. But where is she?

"Brienne?!"

"What are you doing here, you idiot?!" he can hear her yell. Jaime finally spots her, standing by the railing with a cloak over her shoulder, the wind catching in her blonde hair, making it stand up like spikes.

"Don't call me idiot, you wench!" he curses back.

Brienne narrows her eyes at him. Did he really run all the way here just to accuse her one more time? She honestly starts to question if it was a good idea to leave him her favourite book as a present.

He is obviously just a spoiled prince who cannot cherish a gesture like this.

A dumb goose she is, believing that it would matter to him in any significant way.

Brienne should know better.

She won't ever have a friend.

And most certainly Jaime Lannister will never possibly be her friend.

Brienne means to turn away. She does not want to give him the satisfaction to see her disappointment.

Jaime licks his lips. Why does he always end up saying the opposite of what he means?

"I didn't mean it, _Brienne_!" he yells. The girl turns back around to him, "What do you want? Make it quick, we're sailing!"

The ship starts to move. Jaime walks along the landing stage to keep up eye contact with her.

"We must see each other again!" he hollers. "To talk about the book! And so that I can beat you in our next sword fight!"

Brienne stares at him, her sapphire eyes shining brighter than the sea itself.

He wants to… see her again?

"I will write to you!" Jaime then yells, his eyes screwed shut. Brienne leans forward, almost falling over the railing. She knows he hates writing. Reading, maybe one day, but writing?

Will he really write to her?

For her?

"I will write to you, too!" she replies hastily, the ship moving forward relentlessly. "And I won't ever let you beat me in a sword fight! So you better train hard!"

" _You_ train hard!" he yells back.

"Bye, Jaime!" she cries out.

"See you soon again, Brienne!" he shouts. Brienne waves as the ship leaves the port, disappearing in the blue seas.

Jaime glances at the ocean until the ship disappears into the endless blue.

She is still a wench, obviously, but... she is _his_ wench.

So she better lives up to her promise.

Because Jaime has any intention to beat her in the next sword fight.


	4. Letters

Author's Note: Thanks for reading and following and favoriting! Special thanks to the guest reader eager for me to continue the story^^

I hope you'll like this chapter.

Leave reviews if you like ;)

* * *

Jaime sits at the desk in his room, one hand clutching his golden curls while the other encloses a feather, lost deep in thought.

"Why are you brooding?" Cersei asks from behind him, rolling on his bed slowly, making her disappointment no secret. He is supposed to play with her, not get lost inside his own head. It belongs to her, too. Everything that is his belongs to her.

He is hers and hers alone.

"I am not," he sighs, focusing on the parchment in front of him again.

"Yes you are," she retorts.

"Cersei, I assure you, I am not brooding, I am just thinking," Jaime rolls his eyes.

And she keeps him from it. Writing is difficult enough without her constantly distracting him, leading his thoughts astray.

"Which is the same thing," his twin sister snorts. Jaime lets out a weary sigh.

"Is it that boy-girl, isn't it?" Cersei asks, narrowing her eyes. She stops rolling on the bed, fixing her shining eyes on him.

"Why would you care?" he retorts, not looking at her.

"You completely ignore me," she replies. " _That_ is why I care."

"I am _not_ ignoring you, Cersei. I never could," he assures her, though his eyes are fixed on the parchment in front of him.

"You are ignoring me at this very second!" she cries out.

"I have to write her a letter. I promised her," Jaime tells her.

A Lannister always pays his debts.

To Jaime's understanding, that means that a Lannister always keeps his oaths.

And his oath to Brienne was to write to her, so he has to finish this letter.

Because oaths are very important, if not the most important thing in the world.

"Let one of the clerks write it for you. Then this is dealt with. Who cares whose handwriting it is?" Cersei exhales.

"It must be _my_ letter. I promised her that _I_ would write her, not anyone else," Jaime replies sternly.

Because there is no one like him. Just him.

"You are not good at it. It's enough that Father forces you into reading and writing against your will. If she makes you do it, too, then she really means no good," Cersei argues. "I, by contrast, would never ask you to write me letters. And do you know why? Because I know you and because I would never expose you to such embarrassment."

"She didn't ask me for it, I offered it," Jaime corrects her.

And to tell the truth, Jaime doesn't know if he should take offence in Cersei's statement. Brienne pushes him to his limits, sometimes even past them - to make him improve. She made him pick up the sword every single time he lost to her, to try again and try harder. She left him the book so that he could continue to tame the letters even after she was gone. His twin sister, by contrast, never challenges him past the limits binding him. She doesn't even push him anywhere near these boundaries. In fact, Cersei seemingly wants him to stay the same and stay in the same spot for all days still to come.

She doesn't want him to change.

But why would Cersei not want him to develop further? Why wouldn't she want him to grow?

"You are totally boring ever since the Tarths were here," Cersei grunts, getting up from the bed. She leaves the room without another word.

He never wrote to her, but that boy-girl makes him?

Cersei bites her lower lip.

And why is Jaime not already chasing after her to comfort her, as always?

She peeks her head into his room another time, without his notice. Her brother is still sitting over the parchment, seemingly not a single thought on his mind to chase after her, fulfil his obligation to her.

Cersei lets out a feral growl as she turns away another time, cursing him and the ugly boy-girl who leads his thoughts away from her.

She disappears back into her own chambers with a grim expression, her mind twisting and turning to find a way to weave the future another way.

Jaime, unaware of this, just goes on contemplating, staring at the parchment in front of him.

What story can he tell Brienne?

* * *

 _Dear Brienne,_

 _I hope that you are faring well and beat up all the other boys and girls who dare call you names._

 _This is my last sheet of parchment, so you will have to deal with the errors that follow._

 _It has been boring lately. That is why it took me so long to write to you._

 _I hoped for something interesting to happen to tell you about, but it didn't, so I can only write to you that I grew by half an inch and that I got a new wooden sword from my Father. It has a leather handle and our family banner on it. It is far better to wield than the one I fought you with before. So I am convinced that the next time we see each other, I will beat you with it for sure._

 _I managed to read ten more pages of the novel. It is as good as you said. I am interested to find out what happens next to the knight._

 _Did anything interesting happen on the voyage back to Tarth?_

 _Are you yet back there?_

 _How is it in Tarth?_

 _I asked Father if he lets me visit, but he did not decide yet._

 _I hope to hear… read from you soon._

 _Until then, make sure you are less of a wench the next time I see you._

 _Jaime_

* * *

Brienne twists her lower lip between thumb and index finger as she reads the words again and again, a broad smile on her face. She sits on the windowsill of her chamber, knees drawn up to her chest, her free hand clutching the letter she received only this morning.

That is the first letter she ever got.

Or well, of course Brienne received letters before, but this is the first _personal_ letter she ever got.

The first letter by… a friend?

Her eyes roam over the letters again. A few words were crossed out, there are blotches of ink all over the page, and the handwriting is rather awful and very hard to decipher at times, but to Brienne, this is the most wonderful letter she has ever gotten in her entire life.

Till last she feared that Jaime didn't mean it - and only made a joke at her expenses. That is what she is used to. However, then she held the parchment in her hand, and made it reality that Jaime meant it after all.

She gets up from the windowsill at an instant and goes over to her table, settles down, and picks up the feather.

* * *

 _Dear Jaime,_

 _Thank you for your letter._

 _I, too, hope that you are faring well – and that you are getting better with the sword, or else I will have to come to Casterly Rock to protect you for the rest of my life, I fear._

 _I am glad that you enjoy the book so far, but you must read it till the end. It will be worth the struggle, believe me._

 _I, too, have grown, by one inch, which means that I am still taller than you._

 _Concerning your sword, I just want to remind you that a sword does not make a knight, but that a knight can use any sword to fulfil his duty._

 _The only swords that are of finer quality are those made of Valyrian steel, obviously, but that is something you know as well as me for sure._

 _We returned to Tarth the past moon. While the view of the sea was priceless, it was still a rather boring journey back. Not a single monster appeared out of the waves, not a single enemy came to attack us. In fact, the most interesting thing that happened on the journey was that I chipped a tooth when the flow was high one day and the ship whipped back and forth in the gust hard enough to force my head against the railing, my mouth colliding with the wood._

 _Now the fish have their dear fun with my chipped tooth - if not some mermaid, which would be much more interesting in my view._

 _I must say that nothing interesting happened here in a while. My father is away for a business meeting in Sharp Point, which means that I am mostly with my Septa._

 _I don't like her much._

 _Or at all._

 _It would be a great pleasure if you could come to visit Tarth one day. Then I can show you what Tarth's doors and windows and corridors look like. You might be surprised how much they are alike to those in Casterly Rock._

 _I hope to read from you soon again, but please bear in mind that you do not have to hold back a letter only to have something outstanding to tell. Once you read the whole story of the Travelling Knight, you will hopefully understand what I mean._

 _Until then, train the hardest you can and cry less._

 _Brienne_

* * *

Jaime puckers his lips as he goes over the letter once more. Brienne's handwriting is so neat that you could use it to print books with it. He can't help but marvel at the accuracy, when his letter was more of a mess, to be honest.

He gets up from his bed, tugging the letter into his chest pocket in all secret, because, _obviously_ , no one should make the mistake to believe that he feels some personal attachment to the letter, or to the Maiden of Tarth by extension.

She is his wench, fine, and he wants to fight her again, but it's not like he is in _desperate_ need of contact with her.

Yet, Jaime Lannister finds himself sitting at his desk by dawn, writing the next letter to Brienne already.


	5. Split

Author's Note: Huge thanks for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing! You make my heart skip a beat each time ^^

To the guest reviewer(s?) - thanks for encouraging me to carry on with the story. I will try my best to update regularly.

To the Spanish (I hope that I'm correct here) speaking reviewer - gracias. I am sorry, but I don't speak Spanish, so I had to use a website for translation. I still hope that I got the gist of the review, which was really kind. Thank you very much for enjoying the story and for leaving a review. I surely hope I can keep it up ;)

To jbfangirl - big thanks to you, too. I am glad that you like it.

In any case, I hope you'll continue to like it.

Enjoy ;)

* * *

"Jaime? Father wants to see us," Cersei says, peeking her head into his room, her wavy hair swining back and forth with her motion. Jaime glances at her, then puts the story Brienne has given him aside, leaving it upside-down so that he doesn't lose his page, and follows his twin to his father's study.

It's been far too long since he last fought with the wench.

"Did we do something wrong?" he asks, wriggling his nose.

" _I_ didn't, that's for sure," she shrugs. "And even if I did, I will surely blame you for it."

"Of course, my Lady," he sighs. Cersei rarely gets punished for not behaving properly, unless she does it openly of course. If both do something forbidden and are caught in the act, then it is usually Jaime who takes the blame for it. And that even if he had absolutely nothing to do with it. He just can't bear it to see his sister suffer. She is his other half, what makes him complete. So what is some punishment if that keeps her happy, right?

They stop in front of the massive wooden door leading to Tywin's study. Cersei knocks cautiously.

"Come in," their father says from behind the door. Jaime pushes it open and the twins slip inside.

"You wanted to talk to us, Father?" Cersei says, folding her hands in front of her.

"Yes. I want to inform you that I will leave Casterly Rock for a while," Tywin begins.

"To where?" Jaime asks. Cersei nudges him in the side, to remind him that he is not to interrupt their father.

"To the Sapphire Isles," Tywin replies, generously ignoring his son's flaw for once.

Jaime's eyes spark up at that, while Cersei's become darker.

"Lord Selwyn sent an interesting trading proposal that might be a very fruitful project to engage in. To discuss the details and perhaps sign a treaty, my presence is required there. After he came here the last time, I am now under the obligation to come to him this time. At the same time, I can handle some other businesses while on the voyage, which means that the journey is in fact very advantageous anyway," Tywin explains.

The twins look at him, their reactions split into two. While Jaime's entire body seems to shake in sheer delight, Cersei's fists clench in front of her, and the tremor in her body obviously does not come from delight in whatever the way.

"And I have decided that you, Jaime, will come with me. I am tired of your constant whining about going to this place," Tywin goes on. "Furthermore, you are to get used to the procedures of handling business and holding trading negotiations. As my first male heir and thus future Lord of Casterly Rock, you cannot start early enough to learn these things. And far more importantly, Lord Selwyn is in your favour because of your relationship with his daughter, something that will likely lead to successful trading unions."

Jaime smiles over both ears. He only sees sapphires in front of his eyes now.

If his Father makes him sit with him during negotiations, so be it.

If his Father only sees the tactical advantage that Jaime being close to Brienne will please Lord Selwyn, then so be it.

Jaime only sees the sapphires and nothing else.

Not even Cersei.

"And what am _I_ supposed to do there?" Cersei asks in annoyance.

"You are to stay in Casterly Rock," their father replies, much to his daughter's shock. Cersei stares daggers at him, "What?! You separate him and me?"

He cannot!

He must not!

How dare he?!

 _How_?!

"I did not forget your scandalous behaviour to Lord Selwyn's daughter during their last stay here. And I am sure that the Lord of Tarth didn't either. Young Lady Brienne is his only child. That means he is naturally protective of her. Since I seek to make more exchanges of goods with him in the near future, it would be hurtful to my enterprise to remind him of the time his one child was disgraced by my own family," Tywin tells her primly. While Cersei was not severely punished right after it happened, Tywin did not forget.

He never forgets such things.

"But Father," she means to say, but he interrupts her harshly, "That is not up to discussion. You will stay in Casterly Rock, Jaime will come with me to the Isles of Tarth."

"We two belong together," Cersei insists.

"You two are too close to each other lately. I think it will do you both good to gain some distance," Tywin declares. He observes with growing worry how attached the two grow. The news reach his ears often enough that the maids and servants see Jaime kissing her hand before he goes to training, or how they play _Husband and Wife_ in the gardens. While Tywin knows how to instruct his servants not to ask further questions and bypass scandals, he would rather not offer more fuel to the already startled common folk.

Cersei bites her lower lip, trying to contain her anger.

Jaime is uncertain what to make of that utterance. Can you be too close to your sister? Naturally, they are best friends, and naturally, they spend most of their time together. Can you love your sister too much? Your other half?

"We are sailing two days from now. I expect the both of you to show your best sides. That is especially true for you, Jaime. While Lord Selwyn was very pleased with how you took care of his daughter, I do not wish to have a scandal over the fact that you two beat each other up. That does not befit a Lannister, and neither does it a young lady," Tywin goes on. Jaime hides the small smile.

Brienne would beat his teeth out if she knew that he calls her a 'young lady'.

Brienne of Tarth is anything but a lady.

"Of course, Father. I will be the best guest the Isles of Tarth have ever seen," he tells him with a broad grin. Tywin lets out a snort, but chooses not to comment.

"You may return to your chambers now," their father goes on, waving at them to leave. Jaime and Cersei do as they are told, leaving Tywin to his heaps of papers and thoughts revolving around riches and politics alone.

Once outside, Jaime jumps high in the air once, his excitement needing to escape the constraints of his body somehow.

He will fight with Brienne again.

And this time, sure as the Seven Hells are boiling hot, will he beat her every single time.

He can already see the surprised expression her face when she lands in the dust, just as he can already see his own victorious smile.

"How dare he do that?" Cersei seethes.

"Oh, don't mind him. You know that this is just about politics and business," Jaime tries to console her, forcing his mind away from the Sapphire Isles and back to his sister. While he nowadays ignores her anger more often, he can sense that she is sad now. And that means Jaime has to comfort her. He can't stand it to see his beloved sister sad. He cannot stand to see her tears.

"He mustn't take you away from me," his twin argues, her eyes burning. "You are mine and I am yours."

"It's only for a while, Cersei," he assures her.

"Well, you seem rather delighted to get rid of me," she says, hugging her arms. Jaime doesn't see the small grin, covered by her long, curly hair. He only sees his distressed other half.

She knows how to make him move the way she needs him to. And Jaime follows suit, putting his hands on both her shoulders, offering a warm smile, "I would never. You are right. You are mine and I am yours. But that is Father's decision. You can be sure that I will miss you every step of the way there and back."

Why does it sound so hollow at this very second?

"Really?" she croaks, and again, Jaime doesn't realize that she does so on purpose.

"Of course. It might be that I am glad to see Brienne, but as sure as the Seven Hells burn will I be even gladder once I return to you," he tells her, kissing her on the scalp once.

He takes her hand and the two start to walk back to their chambers again.

"I could also write to you, you know? About how I will be faring and all. About what will happen during my day. What I'll see on Tarth…," Jaime goes on hopefully. He knows how much pleasure, really pleasure it brought him to write with Brienne. Maybe he can do the same thing with Cersei? Maybe then she would finally understand why it is so important to him to write these letters.

"What do I care what happens during your days there, without me?" she asks coldly. Jaime feels a small sting in his heart, but keeps his tone light anyway, "Well, then maybe not."

"Just make sure that you miss me," she whispers.

"Of course, my Lady," he agrees as they disappear into the shadows of the castle.


	6. Sapphire Isles in Sight

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing! I love you all for it!

To my Argentinian reviewer: It still amazes me how fanfiction REALLY bridges between one part of the world and the other. Thank you!

In any case, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, too ^^

* * *

Jaime finds himself in love with the taste of sea air on his tongue. He has travelled before, but not as far as the Isles of Tarth yet.

He could imagine himself travelling the seas one day, with only a ship and a mate by his side, to discover some new land, a world beyond, and have many, many adventures on the way.

Maybe he can convince Brienne of the plan by any chance.

Jaime leans over the railing excitedly. His father is mostly inside the cabin, of course, but his son wants to cherish the breeze in his hair, the salt in it making it sticky and standing up in all the wrong ways when he goes to bed and the morning after.

His father commented once that Jaime really looked like a lion now, much to the boy's delight.

"What island is that?" he asks excitedly as he sees isles with richly green mountains, and the water so blue like Brienne's eyes running around it.

"That is Tarth, Lord Jaime," the sailor tells him.

" _Tarth_? That means we're finally there?" he cries out excitedly. He thought it would take at least another day until they would reach the sapphires of the sea. He stems himself up on the railing to catch all of that view. He has to take it all in, so that he never forgets.

And for the first time he understands why the Isles of Tarth are the Isles of Sapphires.

That name is perhaps the most fitting of them all.

* * *

"Lord Tywin! It is so good to see you!" Lord Selwyn greets them, standing by the port, a huge smile on his face. Jaime really likes the man. He has a warm smile.

The same smile Brienne seemingly inherited, though hers is a bit softer, a bit more sheepish, but just as warm.

"I hope the journey went without disturbances, or did you run any trouble?" he asks Tywin, who replies politely, "Not at all. Everything went smoothly, thank you."

"Splendid. Then please, let me guide you to our residence," Lord Selwyn says, starting to walk ahead with Jaime's father by his side. The men go on discussing something Jaime ignores. His eyes are searching for a mouth full of missing teeth, blond, unruly hair, and sapphire eyes.

"Lord Selwyn?" Jaime asks. The older man turns around to him. Tywin narrows his eyes at him for the interruption, but Jaime must know. "I am sorry to interrupt, but where is Brienne? Didn't she want to come see me… _us_?"

"She awaits you in the castle," Lord Selwyn replies.

"But why didn't she come to the port?" Jaime asks.

"Jaime," his father warns him, but Lord Selwyn smiles reassuringly, "Oh no, I am glad that he is eager to see my daughter. He is the first real friend she has ever made. She was eager to see you, but after a small incident yesterday, she was very distressed."

"I hope she is not ill?" Tywin asks out of politeness.

"Not at all. It is a small thing, really, but Brienne is a sensitive child at times, even though her looks don't always give that away, I admit. One of my servant's sons said some truly awful things to her, some of which I will not repeat now, and my daughter and he started a real fight. Both were bloodied and bruised once the servant found them – and his son confessed his misbehaviour," Lord Selwyn explains. "Brienne's distress would not wear down even well after the fight, which is why she was given a tea to make her sleep."

Jaime grimaces, not liking the sound of that story. Not only did someone dare to mock his wench, but to him it also sounds like Lord Selwyn finds it appropriate to just put his daughter to sleep with some ominous herbal tea. Brienne is a wild thing. You don't narcotise wild animals, you let them run until they are tired enough to understand that they must rest. And the same is probably true for Brienne as well. So no, while Jaime likes the man's smile and is sure that he loves his daughter dearly, he starts to call the man's upbringing techniques into question.

"How do you intend to punish the servant and his son?" Tywin asks nonchalantly.

"Oh, it was children playing, and my daughter is a wild thing. The boy had to apologise to her and he is not to come near her for a while. That should do," the other man replies with a small smile.

"You know, if you want to have your servants under control, you have to execute your power once in a while. They should not be under the impression that they can interact with your heir in that way," Tywin advises him.

"And the next time I catch him acting like that, be sure he will receive more punishment, but I do not want to have the people under me in fear of me," Lord Selwyn argues, which gains him a small smile from Jaime. That sounds more like the man he takes him for - and less like the man Jaime takes his father for.

"Sometimes, fear and respect go hand in hand," Tywin replies.

"And so do forgiveness and trust. And trust, as we all know, is one of the most important things in the world," Selwyn says.

"As is power," Tywin mutters more to himself than to Selwyn, who seemingly ignores the last comment.

"Is Brienne alright? Or was she injured badly?" Jaime asks.

"You do not have to worry. It looks worse than it is," Lord Selwyn assures him.

"I don't worry about her," Jaime grunts. The older man laughs out loud once, but then carries on to the castle.

The children, so bright in mind sometimes, but just as often still completely in the dark.

Once they reach the castle, Lord Selwyn has one of the servants guide Jaime to Brienne's room. The Lannister son is thankful to Brienne's father that he spares him the tour around the castle so he may see her, offering a small wink before he bids him farewell until dinner.

Jaime has both hands folded on the back as he follows the servant up the stairs, past corridors and windows… at some point Jaime is a bit disappointed that Brienne is not here to mimic him and point out to him what these things are.

"This is Lady Brienne's chamber," the servant tells him shyly.

"Thank you," he says, putting his hand on the door handle, nodding at it. "May I?"

"Of course," the boy replies, hurrying away. Jaime grins as he walks inside without giving a knock. He doesn't expect to be greeted by a pillow to his face, though. He tilts his head to the side as the feather-filled roll falls to the ground, his smug smile still perfectly in place.

"You are supposed to knock, Goldie Curl!"

"And you are supposed to act like a lady, wench, but you don't either, so I think I don't have to knock," he replies, not in the least impressed by the assault. In fact, he is a little relieved that she fights him back at an instant, making him a little more certain that she is better than he feared she would be.

He sees her only just now, sitting on the bed, one knee drawn up to the chest, breathing hard. Jaime studies her curiously as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. Looking at her once tells him two things: She has been crying, and judging by the bruises and cuts on her face and hands, he should ask if the boy actually survived the battle, since he is convinced that she paid him back for every bruise tenfold.

"Your father said that you beat up a servant's son?" he asks casually, strolling over to her, skipping to some unknown melody.

"I didn't beat him up enough," she mutters into the fabric of her tunic.

"What did he do?" Jaime asks, his voice a bit softer now as he realizes fresh tears staining her freckled cheeks.

He really can't bear to see her crying.

"That is not of your concern," she hisses.

"It is of my concern if that keeps you from greeting me at the port properly. I cannot even say how disappointed I was that you weren't there," Jaime argues.

"I wanted to be there," she replies mutely.

She ran from the castle to the port back and forth all day for the past days to see if a ship with a Lannister banner arrived. Not that she would ever tell Jaime that, of course.

"So what happened?" he asks. "What did the idiot of a servant's son do to get you that upset?"

"Father told you, I see," she grimaces. Brienne loves her father dearly, but she hates it that he lets others know about her weaknesses and insecurities. Brienne wants to contain them, put them behind an strong armour, so no one may ever get past it.

"Yes," Jaime nods, eager to hear the story from her.

"I was training outside, with the longbow, as I usually do. I always leave my pouch a bit away from me. I was concentrating, so I didn't hear it when he came. He went through my pouch and… oh, doesn't matter," Brienne shakes her head.

"It _does_ matter," he insists.

"It's foolish," she argues.

"Foolish is to start a story, but not to finish it," he replies.

"Fine. He found the last letter you had written to me. The foolish goose I am, I carried it with me. He took it out and said that maybe you'd become my next betrothed, but since that is a curse, you would die like my first one did, if you didn't drown on the trip to Tarth already," she explains.

Jaime stares. He didn't know she was betrothed before. And he didn't know he died either. That surely explains her distress.

"And then he wouldn't give the letter back to me. He threw it into the mud and stomped on it, the arse. I jumped him and we fought. I obviously won, and he lost a tooth," she explains.

But she also lost the letter, soaked up with mud and water beyond repair.

"That's good to hear," Jaime grins. "And just as an aside, you are not the only one who tends to keep the letters close."

"What?" she frowns. Jaime grabs into his chest pocket to show her the folded letters he collected. Brienne gives a small smile. The boy stuffs them away again.

"But, if you don't mind my asking, why did the words of some foolish servant's son about me becoming your next betrothed and thus die of its curse get to you that much? To the point that your father has you knocked out with some herbal tea, which is obviously way too girlish for you?" Jaime grimaces. "I mean, as if he'd know - and as if it were true."

She nudges him in the side, though she notes the softer tone, hinting at a slight bit of worry.

"I know it's foolish, it's just… I've had a bad dream in a while, where you drowned on the voyage here. I reckon now that he overheard me talking about it to Father, but… but when he started taunting me, it just brought it all back up," Brienne admits. "And it wouldn't leave me. That's why Father forced me to take that awful tea. He does it out of worry for me. Though I may add that I went down fighting."

She woke up desperately gasping for air each time the dream returned to her and swept her off her feet. The pictures of Jaime's small, dead, pale body, swimming in the endless sea haunted her through day and night. And when the idiot of a boy missing his front teeth dared to mock her - and even worse, remind her of these fears she contains so well otherwise, Brienne saw those empty eyes again, and her armour dissolved into nothingness once more.

And much to her shock, that was a threat even her fists could not beat, could not force to yield.

"Well, I didn't drown, obviously, and I am not betrothed to anyone just yet, so you don't have to worry, wench. You don't get rid of me that easily," Jaime tells her with a hesitant grin, to which Brienne gives a small nod, "I would have come to the port."

"I know," he replies.

"Did you finish the story yet?" Brienne asks, needing a change of subject, needing a change of mood.

"I started the last chapter," Jaime replies with a swell of pride in his chest.

"Oh, that is the best," Brienne grins.

"I surely hope so," the boy replies. She smiles at him. Jaime looks at the ceiling, "So? What are we going to do now? Or will you now stay in your room all day and wallow in self-pity?"

"Can you ride a horse?" Brienne asks.

" _Of course_ I can ride a horse, you wench! I can do that probably longer than you can," Jaime retorts. "And faster."

"We could ride out into the woods," she suggests.

"Your father lets you do that?" Jaime glances at her. Tywin is always rather reluctant about it. There is always someone who ends up falling off the horse - and dying. And surely, his father would be disappointed if his first male heir died in that way.

"You ask yours? Beginner's mistake," Brienne scolds him with a smirk.

"Then let's get ourselves two steeds and go on an adventure. What do you say?" Jaime says in a dramatic voice. Brienne smiles and hops off from her bed, leaving the dark thoughts under the covers of her bed, allowing him to pull her forward and away.

The two then make their way outside and to the horse stables, riding into the woods, trying to escape the wind itself, not a single thing on their minds.


	7. Noticing

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around and being sooo kind!

To jbfangirl: Thank you! I will try to keep it up so that you can find out more about the "cuties" ;)

Without spoilering too much, i invented some characters when it comes to other Tarth-related people. They were never mentioned, but I don't find it impossible. If it is... I gave the AU warning before, so you had it coming.

Enjoy ^^

* * *

Jaime knows by now that Brienne, despite being a highborn, has a tough social standing, common folk and royals alike. However, he gets to witness it first-hand now that he is on Tarth for visit.

The first thing he notices are the glances. Whenever Brienne passes a person by, their head wanders after her, and while Brienne gives her best to act as though she didn't notice, Jaime can tell that she notices, that she sees, that she feels.

Born a Lannister, he knows that some of the common people detest them, and that some are jealous of their wealth. So he knows that some people are staring at him, too, but with Brienne… there is not a single person other than his father who doesn't give her that look, and that even though they know her.

The second thing he notices are the whispers. Some are so silent that he can't understand, but some echo in the castle almost endlessly.

 _Look at that._

 _Ugly thing._

 _Grotesque._

 _Is she even a girl?_

 _Has anyone ever checked?_

 _I heard that she is all hairy beneath the clothes, like some wild animal._

 _Doesn't she have any manners?_

And for some reason, Jaime starts to find it incredibly annoying when someone calls her ugly. The only one who gets to accuse her is he. He is allowed to call her these things, but no one else.

She is his wench - and no one else's.

That is also why his fists clench more often these days, and why he has pictures inside his head, dark pictures, about punching them all in the face, breaking noses, taking their teeth.

The third thing he notices is her father's ignorance. While he is a good man, and a father bearing true and honest tender feelings for his daughter, he seems to be oblivious to Brienne's struggle. He notices it, yes, but he doesn't seem to understand how much it really hurts her, if he doesn't end up blaming her for it a way, by saying that she is a wild thing and makes people react that way.

As though acting in a different way would change the way people looked at her.

To Jaime, the case is quite clear: Brienne is an heir of Tarth, she is of higher blood than any of the mongrels roaming around this place, and that means they should know how to behave themselves around her. Maybe Tywin has a point when he told Lord Selwyn that he can't be that soft to his men. At least not when that means that they are so hard to Brienne.

The fourth thing Jaime notices is that even highborns don't know how to properly behave themselves. During his stay, some _friends_ and some far-far away, roughly related family members were invited to the castle, for Lord Selwyn's namesday. One of them laughed at Brienne the same way Cersei had done back when they first met.

And _no one_ said anything about it. No one corrected the woman, not even her father. No one apologized to Brienne.

And Brienne didn't ask for it either. She let it wash over her like rain and said nothing at all.

The Lannister boy was surprised to find Brienne in a dress the first time he saw her this morning, too. It was green and heavy – and it drew the colour out of her eyes as though enchanted with some dark kind of magic. Jaime had seen her in a dress before, much more frequently in Casterly Rock than here, but it was different somehow, because she didn't complain about it, _at all_. To her, it was natural that on her father's namesday, she would act like a lady – though she was only met with scorn as a result. What shocked him more than the dress and her modest behaviour was the not at all modest behaviour of the guests, who are supposed to be part of their family, if far removed from the lineage.

Though Jaime may add that they don't look at all like Brienne. Not that they are exceptionally pretty compared to her, but no one has her striking eyes. Most of them have some faint shade of green or blue, some brown, but none have the sapphires of the islands in their eyes. But Brienne looked different than them, stuck out like a blue flower among shrubbery.

They talked behind her back and ridiculed her and her dress, her hair, her teeth, her broken nose, the scratches on her arms, the bloody nails, every single part of hers was torn to pieces, chewed and spit out again. And they didn't have the piety to whisper it so silently that one could barely hear it, no, they said it straight to her face, the only façade being that they covered it with a smile and as 'good advice'.

 _You should grow your hair, dear._

 _A girl like you should better tend to her body. You have to make use of the little that you have._

 _Darling, you must practice to walk in the heels._

 _Have you considered to use some more aromatic oils when you bathe?_

And it doesn't take a royal's educated mind to hear what the words meant instead. And to tell the truth, when he heard the women tell Brienne these things, Jaime was sure that she would start a fight the very next second, but…

She didn't.

She replied in all kindness:

 _Oh, I will pay attention to that from now on, thank you._

 _I know, you are probably right._

 _I didn't master the arts of walking in the heels yet. My apologies._

 _I will consider them in the near future._

 _Thank you. You are too kind._

She endured all of it – and the only times Jaime saw the real Brienne again was when she gave her father the present she had prepared for him, a pipe she had whittled herself. She had shown it to Jaime before to ask his opinion, and he could only tell her the plain truth that it was the finest he had ever seen, ever the more surprised to learn that she had made it herself, with all the fine details. There were even small figures engraved on the pipe, a tree with small faces, representing the Tarth family.

Which is, by the way, also the explanation for her scratched and bloody fingers the cousins bragged about so much. Not that they cared, really. Her father did, of course, he kissed her and thanked her, and that is when her eyes sparked again.

The other few times that Jaime saw the real Brienne was when he sat down next to her and started to gossip about the looks of her far-away relatives and other guests, aping the men, ridiculing the women, mocking the mockers.

Brienne giggled, but she never said anything bad against either one. She went to bed early that night.

And the next day… she was the old Brienne again, loud and boyish, foulmouthed and strong as an ox.

And that is the last thing Jaime noticed: Brienne never complains about it. She _fights_ back when it comes to the commons, with teeth and nails, but she doesn't _complain_. She doesn't whine. She may shed a few tears in secret, but she doesn't wail, doesn't run up to her father and tells him to do bad things to those who harmed her. Whenever Jaime asks her about it, she says the same thing her father said. That they don't deserve punishment at the hands of their Lord over such trivialities. And the same is true for her so-called family and friends. She doesn't complain. She doesn't even seem to hold them a grudge for their maltreatment. If Jaime didn't know better, he would say that she agrees with most of what they criticise her for.

And Jaime isn't sure if he likes that about her or not. Because it draws the spark out of her eyes, and the young Lannister honestly cannot stand it.

* * *

"No, no, you have to make small cuts, or else you'll chop off too much wood, you idiot. Once you take too much, you can't bring it back," Brienne scolds him. They sit in the backyard of the castle, under a giant willow, seated on two tree stumps. Jaime asked her to teach her whittling shortly after the debacle at her father's namesday. He was honestly impressed by it – and it serves well as a distraction for her, too.

"But this takes _forever_ ," he complains.

"It takes time, you genius," she rolls her eyes.

"I don't know if whittling will become my new hobby," Jaime grimaces.

"You just need practice. Once you know how to cut, it's fun, trust me," she assures him. "And it's useful. That means you can make weapons out of wood, too. Think about it."

"That's true of course," Jaime nods. He turns his head as he hears footsteps approaching. Three boys their age come closer.

"Who are these?" Jaime grimaces.

"That is my seventh cousin. You met him at the feast. His name is Damian. The others are probably his father's squire and one of the servants," Brienne replies. "Don't mind them."

"Hey, Brinny!" Damian greets her. To Jaime, he is incredibly ugly with the nose of a pig, and the eyes of a mole.

"My name is not Brinny, _Damny_ ," she hisses. Jaime smiles to himself. Brienne can play this game, too. She goes on with an icy voice, "What can we do for you?"

"You are being a bad host, you know? We are in the castle, all by ourselves, and your sole focus is on this guest here," Damian explains, nodding at Jaime. The Lannister son cocks an eyebrow at him, not sure what to make of the boy's inquiry just yet.

"I don't have to play host for you. My Father invited you, not I," Brienne retorts.

In fact, she would rather never see them again if she had a choice.

"What was that? I feel offended," the boy says, feigning feelings of hurt.

"Go back to the castle and weave with the women. I think that befits you better," Brienne tells him, narrowing her eyes at him.

"And it would befit you better to return to your room and put on a dress. What are you even doing? _Whittling_? That's a man's task," Damian tells her.

"Who says that?" Brienne argues.

" _I_ say that?" he shrugs.

"Well, I don't know if you have any authority to say so," Brienne retorts.

"I am a male relative of yours. Do you know what that means? You have to listen to every word I say," Damian tells her.

"It does not," she argues vehemently. "You are so far removed from the Tarth family tree that even if a hurricane roamed over it, there wouldn't be a single twig anywhere close to where your roots are."

They are all just small branches, far away, but she is part of the trunk. Her father always tells her that.

"Perhaps, but women of Tarth have to fulfil their social roles, too. I didn't make those rules, obviously. I just live by them, so don't blame me," Damian shrugs.

"Just go away," Brienne tells him.

"Or what? You'll start to cry – and your little Prince here will come to your rescue?" Damian taunts her.

"Go," Brienne tells him.

"But I don't want to," Damian grins at her. Jaime gets up this time, getting right in the boy's face, "I think you heard her. Get lost."

"See? Her prince must come to save her. Though I guess I ought to pity you for the poor choice of a princess. I still think that if we tore down her breeches, we'd find a proud member instead of a cunt," Damian laughs evilly. Brienne's mouth opens once, then she snaps her jaw together in a straight line.

Jaime, by contrast, long since forgot about composure, "Watch. It."

"Jaime, maybe we should go some other place," Brienne suggests. She usually doesn't stop short before a battle, but Brienne would rather not drag Jaime into this whole business. It's not his fight by any chance.

"No, no, I wanted to finish that pipe before heading back to dinner, but I think your dear seventh cousin wants to go some other place presently," Jaime says, his eyes fixed on Damian.

"Do I? I don't think so. In fact I think I would really like to make sure if I don't have to address you with Ser instead of Lady, Brinny," Damian argues, his eyes on Brienne now, glistening darkly. He then turns to his friends, "What do you think?"

The others grin evilly.

"Get out of my sight right now, or I will make you regret it," Jaime menaces him. He knows that Brienne can very well defend herself, but this is reaching beyond being called names.

"Who are you to tell me anything?" Damian grins, and Jaime replies in a loud voice, "I am Jaime Lannister, heir of Casterly Rock, son of Tywin Lannister, Lord of…"

However, the boy interrupts him, annoyed, "Blah blah blah. As if I cared. This is my cousin and I can do whatever I want with her. It stays in the family, no?"

And for the first time, Jaime realises that his name is seemingly not enough to defend himself at times. Or defend his friends.

"You lay hands on her once, and…," Jaime hisses, but the boy is not in the least impressed, "And what?"

"I will…," Jaime means to say, but that is when the cousin's face just disappears. It takes Jaime's mind a moment to register that Brienne tackled him to the ground. The other two mean to come to Damian's aid, but that is when Jaime's mind clears up and he jumps them. What follows is a fight.

Fists fly, skin tears, bruises bloom. And by the end of the quarrel, three bruised and crying boys hurry back to the castle.

"Are you alright?" Jaime asks, wiping over his mouth with his sleeve.

"I'm fine," she replies as she straightens up. "You?"

He nods, wrinkling his nose, feeling the blood clotting in it. The two glance at the castle again.

"We are _so_ in trouble now," Brienne grimaces.

"Yep," Jaime nods.

"… Thank you, for… helping… I mean _protecting_ me," Brienne tells him in all earnest.

She can defend herself, that's not the thing, but it's nice that someone would help her because he is her friend, that someone would protect her – not because he thinks she cannot defend herself, but because he doesn't accept how she is treated by others.

"You tackled him down first, I got dragged into it," Jaime shrugs.

"Then I guess I am to apologize?" she tilts her head almost shyly now.

"Nah, it's fine. He deserved every single kick and punch. If you hadn't jumped him, I would have punched him," Jaime admits.

They glance at the castle once more.

"We could of course flee now, into the woods, change our names, and live the lives of vagabonds," Jaime suggests.

" _Or_ we could do what knights do and face whatever penalty our fathers hold for us," Brienne argues.

"True again, though I really like the description of a vagabond's life," Jaime puckers his lips.

To travel around, not having to abide by any rules… it sounds rather nice in his opinion.

"Maybe another time," Brienne shrugs with a small smile.

"Maybe, but only if you play vagabond with me, or else I'd be bored out of my mind," Jaime puckers his lips. Brienne gives a small smile.

"Then let's go," he says. The two start to walk towards the castle, the way knights would.

* * *

Once they reach the castle, they are immediately escorted into Lord Selwyn's study, where he and Tywin were in discussion about the treaties before. Their features are grim and angry.

"Damian informed me that you two beat him and his friends up," Lord Selwyn is the one to speak first as the two take their stance in front of them.

"Something that is absolutely no acceptable behaviour for someone your standing, Jaime," Lord Tywin adds, narrowing his eyes at his son. Jaime grimaces, but then gathers his courage. He made up his mind on the way to the castle. He won't let Brienne suffer any more than she had to thanks to Damian and his friends.

"I know, Father, but I felt obliged to, which is why I started the fight and…," he says, but Brienne suddenly steps before him slightly, "Uhm, Lord Tywin, I am sorry to interrupt, but I just want to clarify that Jaime only came to my defence. _I_ was the one who attacked Damian first."

Jaime stares at her. If this were Cersei next to him, she would have let him tell the tale of how he began the fight.

"And why did you, Brienne?" her father asks in frustration. " _Again_?"

This time, Jaime speaks up, searching the Lord's eyes, "Lord Selwyn, her cousin said things to her that I dare not repeat in your castle. It went to the point that he threatened Lady Brienne's honour."

Brienne's stares at the two - and even Tywin seems to be caught off-guard for a moment.

"Is that so?" the Lord of Tarth asks, turning back to Brienne, who replies with a certain, steady voice, "That is so. He said that he'd pull down my... breeches."

She turns her glance to Tywin another time and adds. "It didn't go any further, but that is why I fought back, and that is also why Jaime came to my aid and protected me from their assault."

The two exchange glances.

"If that is the case, then I must thank you for coming to my daughter's rescue, Jaime," Lord Selwyn says, now in a softer voice, though it still rambles with distress. Jaime nods curtly, before his eyes drift to Tywin, "Are we getting punished?"

"I will obviously not punish my son for doing a good deed, and I believe I speak so in Lord Selwyn's name as well," his father tells him. "You may go to your chambers and clean up. I suppose that Lord Selwyn has some discussion due with Damian and the rest of his clan, don't you?"

"Absolutely," the other man agrees. Jaime and Brienne steal away after a quick bow to each man. They let a sigh of relief once they are in the corridors again.

"That was close," Jaime breathes, leaning his back against the cold stone wall.

"I thought they would punish us for sure," Brienne agrees.

"I thought you'd hit me when I said that your honour was in danger," the Lannister boy wrinkles his nose.

Brienne shrugs at him, "That's what it was in a way, I suppose."

"Then you guess right," he nods, but then licks his lips. "But…"

"But what?" she tilts her head at him.

"Why did you interrupt me? I would have told them that I attacked first to save you the trouble," Jaime can't help but ask. It burned on his mind ever since she stepped in front of him. Cersei never did such a thing for him.

"But that would have been a lie," she argues, knitting her eyebrows. What did he expect her to do? Let him take the blame for her actions?

Jaime only offers a shrug. What is a lie if it had spared her punishment?

"Knights don't lie," Brienne tells him. "And knights share everything, right? Because they are brothers. They share prosperity as well as burdens. So... telling the truth was the only right thing to do."

"I would have taken the punishment, no bother. My Father is mad at me most of his time anyways," Jaime assures her.

"My Father is, too. The way I see it, it's better to share a punishment than to burden one with all of its weight. That way, we both would have had to carry a little less," Brienne replies.

"You are right. And now we even walked out of this without penalty," Jaime smiles. They start to walk again.

"Though sometimes I do wonder what boys are so obsessed about when it comes to… you know what," Brienne grimaces, tilting her head to the side.

"Boys are stupid," Jaime shrugs.

"They are indeed," Brienne chuckles, tipping her body to nudge against his shoulder once. Jaime nudges her in the arm lightly, "We really should get changed. I don't want to have anything of him on me. Who knows what diseases he has?"

Brienne makes a face of disgust, nodding frantically, "We should better."

And so the two, by the end of the day, feel more like knights than ever, even if dirtied and bloodied, but with the certainty that they acted the way a true knight would have.

* * *

The day comes way too fast for both of them that the Lannister banner whips in the wind and the two stand by the port to say goodbye once more.

"So… this time I'm leaving," Jaime grimaces, wrinkling his nose. It's windy today, and the sky is rather grey.

"I know. I just don't know if I feel relieved or disappointed about it," Brienne huffs.

"Oh, my little wench, you will miss me so much that your tiny heart will bleed. You will cry in a pillow, my name on your lips, waiting for my return," Jaime argues.

"If I don't do a dance along the port," Brienne snorts.

"I would like to see that," the Lannister boy chuckles.

"We must make sure that we see each other again," she says with a grimace. "Or else I will never get my books back."

Brienne gave Jaime new books to read, under the premise that he is to return them to her the next time they see each other.

A silent promise of a next time.

Of return.

"Maybe you can come over to Casterly Rock the next time?" Jaime asks hopefully.

"I can try," she shrugs.

"But we'll write each other," he assures her.

"You better do," she nods, sniffling once.

"Now don't tell me you'll start to cry," he huffs. She nudges him hard enough to make him stumble a few steps.

"As if!" she pouts. "It's the wind, Goldie Curl."

"Well, I have to go," he grimaces, knowing his father's look piercing through his back.

"Bye, Jaime," she whispers as he goes onboard.

"Bye, Brienne!" he yells from the boat once it sails. She waves at him as the ship disappears.

She really hopes she will get her books back.


	8. A Friend's Return

Author's Note: Hugest of thanks for sticking with me and my little story!

In response to the wonderful reviews I was honored with:

To LadyKatherine29: Thank you soooo much. I was honestly a bit anxious that people wouldn't like the idea.

To the guest reviewer: Thank you very much! I must say that I did not yet register to AO3, though I consider it now. Thanks for the advice! Maybe I'll soon be a member of that platform, too. In any case, I'll let you all know.

In any case, you make me very happy and encourage me to carry on. Thank you!

Enjoy ;)

* * *

It takes over a year until the two see each other again. While Jaime and Brienne made any effort to keep up contact through letters, both missed each other dearly. Writing a few lines is simply not the same as wrestling in the grass, having tourneys in the arena, stealing away before dawn to be by themselves, or reading stories in dim candlelight.

Jaime asked his father again and again and _again_ – and he is quite sure that Brienne was just as eager, but the Lords are men of facts and business, which means that they would not make the effort to have the two meet without some business in the back of their heads.

That is also why Jaime hates politics.

However, all of his frustration melted away when he received Brienne's latest letter, telling him that her father agreed to send her to Casterly Rock. Lord Selwyn and Lord Tywin, seemingly weary of the children's constant complaining, found an agreement that was advantageous to both sides. The Lord of Tarth will not stay in Casterly Rock, but will sail to another port not far away, to handle a number of business meetings around the area.

Lord Tywin agreed to welcome Brienne as their guest until Lord Selwyn is finished with his businesses, to "spare yougn Lady Brienne the troubles of so much travelling around" since that is "not suitable for a lady her age". Though Tywin surely expects something in exchange, if he did not already get it, Jaime couldn't be happier that it's happening after all.

Not that all family members share his enthusiasm. Cersei kept making nasty comments at Brienne's expenses, and reminded Jaime several times who his _best_ friend is.

Jaime doesn't let that sway his mood, however. He is glad to see Brienne back after all this time.

He waits in the same spot where they first met, the sun standing high above his head. His father agreed to let him take care of the new house guest and greet her alone. And finally Jaime sees the familiar mob of unruly blonde hair approach. The Lannister boy sports his most self-conscious grin as she takes the last steps.

"You have grown up," Jaime grins as she comes to stand right in front of him.

"You, by contrast, haven't," she replies, straightening up a little bit to show that she is still taller than him. The two glance at each other for a while, but then crack up laughing anyway.

"How was the voyage? Or did you just constantly bring up your food to feed to the fishes, fainting into the arms of the sailors?" Jaime teases as he guides her inside.

"Tells me a landlubber like you," Brienne snorts, wrinkling her nose.

"Landlubber? The coast is right out our door!" Jaime argues. "You islanders are no smart people, really."

Jaime takes her by the shoulder to lead her inside.

It's odd how easily they return to their old routine, as though they had never been apart.

"So? What are we going to do?" Brienne asks.

"Hm, I thought about locking you up in your chamber, in the highest tower, and leave you there," Jaime replies with a mischievous grin.

"Splendid, then I'd get to finish the new book I started reading," she snorts.

"Or we could have a small tourney," Jaime suggests. He trained like a madman to improve his skills. Thus, he is confident now that there is no way in the Seven Hells that Brienne will ever beat him in a sword fight again.

"Two people don't make a tourney," she huffs. "And anyways, I think I must greet the rest of your family before I can do anything for leisure."

"The wench suddenly pays attention to etiquette? I am shocked!" Jaime snorts. She nudges him in the ribs hard enough to earn a small yelp from the boy, though his smile never leaves him.

"My Father had me well instructed not to behave the way I did during our last visit here. I am the sole delegate of the Isles of Tarth. Last time, he was there to be the proper representative, but now it's just me. That means I have the responsibility now," she replies, lifting her chin slightly to underline her point.

"Fine, then I will show you Father's study. But after that, we should hurry away. This place means evil, believe me," Jaime warns her.

"To be honest, I'm more concerned about your sister than your father," Brienne replies truthfully, biting her lower lip. Jaime grimaces. Obviously, she didn't forget about the first meeting with Cersei.

Brienne feels fairly intimidated by Tywin, or maybe a lot, but Jaime's father is a Lord. That means he has to play according to the rules. Cersei is about as young as her, however, which means that she has more freedoms to act the way she finds it right. And that means she also has more free space to attack Brienne. She contemplated, but did not figure out yet what tactic she could use to overpower Jaime's sister. In combat, Cersei would hit the ground after mere seconds, but Brienne knows that this is no battlefield, which means that she is clearly at a disadvantage – on enemy turf.

"Don't be," Jaime hastily assures her. "I know you two had a rough start, but my sister is a little difficult. You just have to get to know her."

Brienne chooses not to comment – because she is by no means sure if she wants to get to know Cersei _at all_.

The two then go to Tywin so Brienne may greet him as the procedure demands, and the Lord of Casterly Rock seems possibly a little pleased at her more modest behaviour. Brienne feels a bit relief wash over her that Tywin seemingly does not even notice her wearing boy's clothing anymore. While she chose a longer tunic to give a faint idea of a dress, it seemingly goes unnoticed now.

"Alright, then let's meet the rest of the family," Jaime says once they are walking down the corridors again. Brienne stiffens visibly, but follows wordlessly as Jaime guides her into the garden, where Cersei sits with her governess, enjoying tea and fruit, looking like she jumped out of a painting.

"Ah, Cersei! Look who's finally arrived!" Jaime cries out cheerfully as he pushes Brienne forward, realizing that she would rather stay behind him now.

Really, it is still odd to him that Brienne is that outgoing when around him, fierce, brutal, and brave, but can morph into a mouse in a giant's body within mere seconds when around strangers or people she feels uncertain about.

"One could hardly miss her," Cersei mutters under her breath, but then straightens up with a trained smile, curtsying in front of her. "Brienne, it's a great pleasure to see you back."

Brienne frowns, unsure as to why the Lannister daughter would curtsy to her. She bows out of reflex, "I am glad to be back here, too."

Cersei cocks an eyebrow at the blonde boy-girl, but keeps the comment tickling her tongue in the back of her throat.

She _bowed_.

Cersei honestly fails to understand what Jaime sees in her.

"How long will you stay?" she asks, her voice as light and musical as a nightingale's song. Yet, Brienne gets the rather straightforward implication that Cersei just wants to know how long she has to bear with Brienne until she leaves again.

"Gladly, she can stay a while, dear sister. Her father has to attend quite a few meetings all around Casterly Rock and its neighbouring areas," Jaime jumps in, feeling the tension rise to the point that the small hairs in the nape of neck stand upright.

"Oh, that is wonderful to hear," Cersei smiles at her. "But before I forget it, Brienne, I missed my chance the last time you honoured us with your presence here to properly apologize to you for my _utmost_ inappropriate behaviour to you during our first meeting. I surely hope that you will no longer hold it against me. I have dreaded to apologize to you face to face, for so long. I don't know what has gotten into me."

"I wouldn't ever hold it against you. And anyways… it's long since forgotten. But, ugh, thank you for the apology," Brienne says, her lips moving only slightly apart as she forces the words out of her mouth.

In fact she did not forget.

In fact it hurt her.

In fact she would hold it against her if only she could.

And she is most certainly not thankful for this empty apology.

"Splendid! Now everyone can get along again," Jaime claps his hands together.

"It is a relief," Cersei says, touching her chest.

"So, dear sister, do you want to tag along? Before we get to some sword fighting, I thought I might show Brienne to the horse stables?" Jaime suggests, way too hopefully to Brienne's liking – because she honestly doesn't want Cersei to tag along, but of course, if she wants to, Brienne will do what is expected of her and smile and be polite.

Because Cersei is different from the boys back in Tarth who constantly call her names. She is a Lannister, a highborn. That means Brienne cannot punch the truth into her. Similarly, it means that she will be judged sharply for such action. Far more importantly, however, Cersei is Jaime's twin sister. And Brienne would never risk it that Jaime may start to bear her a grudge for insulting or fighting against Cersei.

Brienne knows very well that 'friends' come and go if you don't stick to certain rules. While she finds Jaime rather unconventional in most regards, Brienne learned the hard way that it takes no more than one wrong action for all of your friendships to go overboard and drown in the endless sea.

And even though she doesn't yet dare to say aloud that Jaime is a friend of hers, she is too careful for that, she would rather not risk whatever it is that they have. For that, it brings a smile to her face way too often.

She looks at Cersei another time, a small dark smile tugging at the pretty girl's lips. And it is during moments such as these that Brienne feels helpless and hopelessly lost without her armour, or at least her wooden sword and her slingshot.

How do you protect yourself against such smiles? What armour protects you against these pains? If only she knew…

"Thank you for the offer, but I think I will pass. Maybe some other time," Cersei replies at last.

"As you wish," Jaime shrugs, but then quickly turns his attention to Brienne, "Ah, I almost forgot. Do you want to meet Tyrion, too?"

"Your younger brother? Well yes of course," Brienne replies quickly. Anything that means away from Cersei sounds like one of the Seven Heavens to her.

"If you want to show her a dwarf, just take her to the circus," Cersei snorts. Jaime narrows his eyes at her, "Cersei, he's our brother."

"And she was our mother," is the only reply, filled with ice and snow that Brienne can't help but cringe.

"I suppose we should be on our way," Jaime changes the subject with a grimace. He takes Brienne by the arm and pulls her along with him, "I will see you later."

Cersei puckers her lips.

That may not have been a smart move, she must admit, but that little monster always gets her there.

"She doesn't really mean it like that, about Tyrion, you see. Cersei is just still very upset about our mother's death," Jaime tells Brienne apologetically as they make their way down the corridors yet again. The Tarth girl grimaces, but doesn't comment. She is just irritated that Jaime is constantly making apologies in Cersei's name.

But maybe they are just that close.

No, they surely are.

"And you?" she asks quietly. Jaime turns to her with a grimace, "Well, of course I miss our mother, too, but I wouldn't ever blame Tyrion for it. It's not like he could help it that mother died giving birth to him. He is just a small child who can't hold up a knife properly yet. How would he murder someone if he can't even do that, right?"

"Right," she agrees solemnly.

"How is it with you?" he asks. "Do you miss your mother?"

She mentioned to him that she lost her mother, too.

"Not really, I mean, of course it's a misery that she passed away, but I didn't know her well. In fact, I can hardly remember her at all... So I can't tell that I miss her, really. I just know that she is... not here, and that my Father is very sad about that," Brienne replies truthfully. Jaime nods, to her surprise seemingly understanding what she means. Normally, people look at her quizzically, if they don't take some odd sort of offence in it that she doesn't have the tears in her eyes over the woman who gave her life - when in fact it is simply that Brienne cannot bear those feelings for someone whose face she doesn't even know.

"So, this is Tyrion's room, but don't be surprised, I told you, he's, well, _unusual_ in size," Jaime warns her.

"Well, so am I, so I don't see a problem in that," Brienne replies self-consciously. Jaime grins as he pushes the door open.

"Jamie!" a high-pitched voice squeals. A tiny boy wobbles in their direction. Jaime gets down on one knee as the small creature comes over, "Hey there, little one. We have a guest. Do you remember her? She's been here before. This is Brienne."

The boy looks at her with huge eyes, studying her from head to toe, "Are you a giant?"

Jaime tries to hold back his laughter as Tyrion keeps glancing at Brienne, totally in awe. He knows that Tyrion's governess told him the story of _The_ _Giant and the Golden Casket_. While Jaime had been slightly worried that Tyrion would be irritated by a story about people even taller than is the rest of the world to him anyways, the small boy took great pleasure in the story. In fact, he was totally excited about giants and kept asking his older brother when he could finally see one for real.

And now he seemingly found himself one.

"No, no giant, just a bit taller than most people," Brienne replies, offering a warm smile. Jaime tilts his head. He rarely sees her smile like that. It's her secret smile, the one she doesn't show many people other than herself – and him, obviously. She bends down to be closer to eye level with Tyrion. "I am most definitely taller than your brother, though."

"Hey!" Jaime pouts. Brienne ignores him, however.

"Jaime mentioned to me that you like stories a lot?" Brienne asks, to which Tyrion nods his head frantically. "That's good, I like stories, too. That means we already have something in common."

Tyrion glances at her, still amazed for some reason.

"Can you… can you read a story to me?" Tyrion asks hopefully.

"Oh, I would love to, but maybe later the day. I promised Jaime to spend time with him, but later I can surely spare some time for you, too. What do you say?" Brienne suggests. Tyrion gleefully squeaks in excitement, "Bedtime story! Bedtime story! Bedtime story!"

"You brought that upon yourself. Once you read a story to him, you'll be stuck doing it for the rest of your stay," Jaime tells her, arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, I don't mind," Brienne replies, her eyes still fixed on Tyrion as she flashes a bright smile. "And anyways, I know another Lannister who likes it quite a lot if I read stories to him, too."

"Who?" Tyrion asks, gaping at her.

"Father," Jaime huffs. Brienne rolls her eyes, "I read stories to Jaime already the last time I have been here."

"Really?" Tyrion blinks at her. She nods, " _Everyone_ loves stories. It's just that not all of us like reading or writing them, but everyone loves hearing them."

The smallest Lannister nods frantically, "Yeah. I love them."

"Then I am looking forward to reading a story with you. I surely have one you haven't heard yet," Brienne winks at him. Tyrion starts to jump from one tiny leg to the other.

"I think someone has to loo," Jaime chuckles.

"Don't mock him. He's just excited, Jaime," Brienne scolds him.

"Wench, you…," Jaime begins, but the girl interrupts him harshly this time, "Don't teach him such foul words! He'll be yelling it at everyone around the castle if you don't watch it."

Jaime bites his lower lip. He is simply so used to calling her that that he doesn't even realize it as an offence anymore, just as she almost automatically understood that it's no insult, at least not anymore.

"So, Tyrion, I will surely see you later the day," Brienne says, getting up.

"And read stories?" he asks hopefully once more.

"Of course," she assures him. "And if your brother behaves himself, he may tag along and read with us. But _only_ if he behaves."

Tyrion grins, satisfied. The two then leave the boy to his toys and story books, already getting excited about the reading session, as it seems.

"You are surprisingly good with children," Jaime grins at her smugly.

"What?" she frowns.

"Well, I thought you would try to eat them alive and all," Jaime replies with a wink. Even though he was honestly surprised. While Jaime knows that she is not as tough as she seems at times, in a positive sense, he expected Brienne to be rather uncertain about handling smaller children. In fact, he already pictured her holding Tyrion with arms outstretched, as though he was some alien object, if not clumsily bump into things out of nervousness and drop everything.

However, as he had to realize, Brienne seems to be better with children than with people her age or older. Just as he had to realize what a soft smile she can have.

"I love small children," she insists. "They don't understand the world yet. They don't get social conventions. They don't know that someone is ugly or fat or ugly and fat. To them, it's only important that you are kind, that you play with them, and listen to them. Children that age are so much easier to be around at times."

At some point, Brienne wished that all people were just small children. Then no one would cock eyebrows at her and call her a freak for being tall. They would all stare at her in awe and think of her as a giant, perhaps. In any case, she wouldn't be judged anymore. Brienne is pulled out of her musing when Jaime lets out a strangled fake cry.

"You are breaking my heart. It seems to me that you like Tyrion better than me!" Jaime exclaims dramatically, clutching at his chest.

"Of course I like him better than you," she retorts promptly. "He is sweet – and seemingly very smart for a boy his age."

Jaime turns around on the heel, one hand to the forehead, mimicking a fainting maiden, and goes to the ground, "You are killing me, Brienne! A dagger right through my heart, two times in a row. Oh, the pain, I can't bear it!"

"C'mon, get up now. You said you wanted to show me the stables," Brienne argues, placing one foot around either side of his head, glancing down at him.

"But you just killed me, Brienne!" Jaime keeps crying out.

"Then you are way too easy to kill. And if you are that easy to kill, really, then I suppose I am better of befriending your brother now," Brienne replies smugly, putting her hands on her hips.

Did she just say it - that easily? _Friend_?

"Ah, the pain," Jaime goes on, clutching his chest. "I cannot… I cannot even… speak."

He didn't correct her, didn't frown.

"Let us rejoice," she snorts. "Now get up."

"No, I can't, for you have broken my golden heart to tiny pieces," Jaime keeps going. Brienne bends down this time, grabs Jaime by the back of his collar and starts to drag him over the stone tiles. Jaime laughs to himself, continuing to play a wounded man whose heart was ripped apart.

Brienne pulls him along anyway, ignoring his cries.

Well, except for smiling at his ridiculousness.

At the ridiculousness of her friend.


	9. Flowering

Author's Note: Thanks for everything!

To my friendly Argentinian reviewer: Thanks again for reviewing again! I am so glad that you enjoy the story despite the hardships of different languages ^^

I hope ya'll like this chapter, too.

Enjoy ;)

* * *

Some time later, Jaime finds himself in Brienne's room, gazing around, the buzzing of the mosquitoes in his ears. He noticed that the wench was a bit quieter than usual all day yesterday. Figuring that she is thus in dire need of some distraction, he planned a day full of activities.

However, Brienne doesn't want to stick to the schedule as it seems, since she is still sitting at the small table in her chamber, in her cotton undershirt and short breeches. Curiously enough, no one really minds if Jaime walks in on her when she is not 'properly' dressed, except for that one time he burst into the room when one of the governesses was present, and Brienne had just come back from taking a bath.

Jaime is unsure who blushed more: Brienne, the governess, or he.

However, seeing her in only a cotton undershirt is now utmost natural to him – and people seemingly understand that. After all, they are not betrothed and likely won't ever be. Jaime wants to be a knight, and so does Brienne. That means that they won't be marrying anyways. And even if it came to it, Tarth is not prestigious enough to marry into the Lannister clan.

At least that is what Cersei explained to him. She said that he, as a Lannister, would never be matched with someone of Brienne's standing. While having business with Tarth is advantageous, a marriage would not serve as means to improve the Lannister family's wealth in any way. Jaime doesn't care about the whole matchmaking business, however. He only sees the advantage that, since a marriage between Brienne and him seems so ridiculous, no one judges the nature of their relationship, in the sense that they could be up to some forbidden things.

Of course they are up to forbidden things a lot, but not of that like. They rather sneak out of their rooms by night to visit each other, read stories, or play with Jaime's toy soldiers. They steal food from the kitchen to have a secret picnic. Or they throw pebbles at the pigeons, pretending that they are dragons they have to scare away.

Or maybe it's really just that they don't perceive Brienne as a girl and that is why no one suspects such actions to bloom between the two. However, Jaime couldn't care less for as long as they are free to be themselves and he can come inside without knocking on her door.

Brienne is busy writing a letter to her father, to let him know how she is faring in Casterly Rock. She let Jaime know that her father told her to write at least once a week, if not more often, to inform him if she is alright. She added almost apologetically that he is very protective of her, and that he has never given her into the care of another family before. Usually, if he leaves for business reasons, Brienne has to stay in the castle with her septa and the governesses, and they force her into all the lady-activities she would rather keep away from.

"Are you done any time soon? We have tons to do today," Jaime exhales dramatically, stretching his limbs in annoyance.

"I'm finished once I have the letter sealed. So unless you see me getting the wax, you can estimate that I am not finished yet," Brienne tells him, her voice soft, but still with enough mockery to make him narrow his eyes at her.

"I have a lot to write about now," she adds, shifting in her chair.

A while back, she wouldn't have known what to write down on parchment, what story to tell, but ever since she befriended Jaime, there is always something to talk about, something always happens that she finds worth writing down.

"Yes, because I am such a good host and keep you busy all the while," Jaime grins.

"I must say I cannot complain much about the choice of activity," Brienne says, twisting one leg over the over as she goes on writing. "And what tons do we have to do today?"

"We will start with a round of sword fighting in the training area, where I will beat you in no time, but we will go over a few rounds so that you get at least a chance, _maybe_ … after that we will refresh ourselves little quick and then head out for a horse ride. If time allows, we will then head to the coast for a swim, and obviously for a contest about who jumps from the highest cliff… after that we might still have enough time for some longbow practice… after that, we will have something to eat with the family… then Tyrion. He bragged about it that you must read to him two times today, so that you finally finish the book. After a few more rounds of racing, I think we will retire for the day, closing with a bedtime story for Tyrion, coupled with my outstanding acting skills, and a round of chess before going to bed," Jaime runs down the list, full of enthusiasm.

Brienne licks her lips, sucking her lower lip into her mouth once, "Well, that is quite a lot."

"As I already said, which is why you should better get going. We are behind schedule already," Jaime insists.

"But it is quite hot today. Do you think it's such a good idea to pack all activities into a day that hot?" she argues.

"It's always hot here around this time. This is Casterly Rock, not Tarth, wench," Jaime retorts with a roll of his eyes.

"If you say so," she replies, grabbing the wax.

"Ah, finally," Jaime breathes. Brienne seals the letter, but she finds her hand instantly caught by the Lannister boy, who pulls her to her feet, "Now come! We have no time to lose."

"Jaime, I still have to dress," Brienne insists. Jaime thrusts her short tunic, vest, and boots into her arms, after he secretly gathered them while Brienne was busy with the letter.

"Then hurry up," he tells her. Brienne mutters some incoherent curses as she puts on the tunic and the vest, stumbling into the boots reaching up to half her calf as Jaime already pulls her outside already.

"Jaime!" she mewls, but the boy won't have any of it and simply drags her along. Brienne looks back to her room longingly once. She really would have rather spent the day reading.

Jaime stops once they reach what they call "The Battlefield". He tosses one of the blunt swords at Brienne. She catches it expertly, getting into position.

The Lannister boy notes with a small grin how her posture changes. Her shoulder seem broader, her entire body changes into a weapon the moment she holds a sword in hand. Even if she is absolutely distressed before or very nervous, you only have to give her a weapon, and Brienne has the self-confidence of any upstanding, seasoned knight. Though Jaime notes that she moves around more, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. That's not the usual sword dance of hers.

Well, maybe a new tactic.

They start to fight almost instantly as Jaime charges her. Brienne, as could be expected, doesn't hold back, even though Jaime notes with a grimace that she doesn't move as much as she usually does either.

"You are a bit sluggish today, wench," he tells her.

"I am not sluggish. And even if I were, I'd still beat you," she retorts. The two continue fighting back and forth, taking turns on who is the one to make the other yield.

After a while, both are sweating profusely, exhaustion and the summer heat doing the rest.

"Twenty – twenty. I'd say next strike wins," Jaime suggests, short in breath.

Of course he'd never admit that he honestly would not make it to the thirty points they had first agreed on.

Brienne nods tightly, eyes focused on the blades.

Jaime is the one to charge first. Brienne blocks his hit, pushing him backward. Jaime, as he is thrown back, has an idea. He wants to use the momentum to twist around and charge her again. She won't see it coming. Once his feet catch solid ground again, he twists on the heel to charge again, but Jaime has to realize that it's more difficult in practice than in theory. He has too much spin, so he ends up missing his step. Jaime stumbles forward, head first, unable to stop himself.

Brienne lets out a small yelp. She knows she can't strike him now, or she will hit him in the head. Instinctively, she raises her sword, only to have the boy solidly colliding into her midsection. The air is knocked out of her as both crash to the ground. Jaime pedals back jerkily, fearing that she will strike him with the sword at an instant. He already means to cover his face, but that is when he sees the blade discarded on the ground.

His eyes fall back on Brienne, who is shaking her head as she leans on her elbows, her legs outstretched like the blades of a pair of scissors.

"Brienne, I'm sorry, I…," he says, glancing at her with wide eyes, but that is when he sees…

Red.

Blood.

"Oh by the Gods! Did I hit you that hard?!" he cries out in distress, seeing blood run down her left leg. He whirls around. "We have to get you to a healer!"

Brienne's brain finally decides to operate again, registering what Jaime is so upset about – and what she has to prevent presently. She holds up one hand, eyes screwed shut, "No!"

"Brienne, if you are hurt," Jaime means to say, but the girl interrupts him, "I'm not injured! It's fine! Just stop!"

And that is when Jaime gets it.

"Oh," is the only thing he brings out. Brienne scrambles to her feet, not daring to look at him, "I… I… have to go."

Jaime just stares as Brienne hurries away.

That is the problem when you have a boy-girl for a friend.

You tend to forget that they are girls in the end after all.

* * *

After a while, Jaime finds himself in front of Brienne's chamber this time, his mind still mulling it over.

In fact, his mind is too far gone to catch two eyes glancing at him from the shadows.

"Brienne?" he asks through the closed door.

"Yes," comes a weak reply from the other side.

"May I come in?" he asks.

"Yes," she replies meekly. Jaime opens the door. Brienne is lying on her bed, curled in on herself, seemingly trying to disappear into herself. He offers a sympathetic look as he comes closer.

Brienne would just like to disappear at this moment and never come out again. She should have let him win earlier, then it wouldn't have come to this.

"I am sorry that I didn't… realise… your… _condition_ ," Jaime says, licking his lips nervously.

"I didn't want you to realise," she replies simply.

"It may have been for the better, however. I never would have challenged you for a sword fight, had I known," Jaime argues. He might be stubborn most of the time, but he surely wouldn't have asked her for a sword fight or any of the other things he had planned for the day if had known it.

He is surprised to find the fire back in her eyes for a brief moment as she replies, "And that is what I wouldn't _ever_ want. Because that means you'd treat me differently because I'm a woman."

She wants to fight, she wants to play. That her body may have a different say about that is something entirely else to her. Brienne dreams of becoming a knight. And a knight cannot care about such a small nuisance either.

And far more importantly, she doesn't want Jaime to treat her any different only because of this. She wants Jaime to act the way he always does around her – because he acts around her the way he does because he sees Brienne, her person, not her being a girl, or woman now. He only saw her, and Brienne wants it to stay that way. Jaime always treated her as his companion and played with her the way boys play with each other. He made no difference. And the thought scares her that she is now suddenly very different from him after all.

Jaime nods in understanding, "Of course."

It didn't dawn on him until just now, but that makes sense of course, at least for someone like Brienne. She doesn't want to be regarded in a different way based on her physical sex – and while Jaime never had that struggle, obviously, he thinks he understands that this makes her upset.

"Is it… your… first time?" he asks hesitantly, fighting a small blush.

"No, my second," she admits truthfully.

Why is she telling him this again? Ah, right, because she is a stupid wench when it comes to these things, Brienne scolds herself.

"Does your father know?" Jaime grimaces, knowing of the implications that come along with the first flowering.

She shakes her head, "You know that I am here because he is on this business trip. And I don't plan on telling him until we are reunited. Or else he will come to the idea to go on searching for suitable betrothed for me while he is on his business tour."

"Well, you can't keep it from him forever," Jaime argues.

"No, I know, it's just that I... I don't want my Father to search me a husband that way. And... and I want to… tell him myself, face to face, you know?" she replies mutely, drawing her knees further to her chest.

"Of course," Jaime nods his head quickly.

"Is that lying, you think?" she asks suddenly, her voice meek. Jaime tilts his head as her sapphire eyes are glancing at him.

"No, he's not here, is he?" he tells her. Jaime knows that Brienne always tries to be honest, tries to live up to the virtues of a knight. And that includes not to lie.

"No," she shakes her head.

"Then it's no lie. You just wait to tell him face to face, as you said," Jaime shrugs.

"That's good to know," she says, curling in on herself even more this time.

Jaime asks cautiously, "How bad is it?"

She shrugs.

"So bad then, huh?" he grimaces sympathetically.

No wonder that Brienne of all girls in the world has to be plagued with bad pain on tops of everything else. Her body is seemingly always revolting against any part of hers that is labelled as 'woman'.

He never met someone who is so at war with herself as is Brienne of Tarth.

"I really wished I were a boy now," Brienne complains, allowing for once her pain to show.

Perhaps she dares to say these things to Jaime because he is her one true friend after all. She never had someone to talk about these matters. She never had someone who would keep her secrets, even without labelling it as such. Jaime always seems to know what must stay between the two.

He is one of the few people in this world who understand her.

"Yeah, I suppose I get that," he says sympathetically. He starts to walk behind her. Brienne's eyes follow for as long as they can. She then feels him sitting down on the other side of the bed, letting his long legs dangle over the rim. Brienne doesn't turn around, just curls in on herself even more.

"I thought you'd be more… nauseated," he says quietly, because she is herself. She was terrified at the thought that he might find out about it – and she was even more terrified of the idea that Jaime might not only look at her another way, but to draw away from her as a result.

Because girls are just a bunch of geese in both their opinion.

"Cersei already started at the age of ten. It was pretty bad. We had to call for a healer, I remember," Jaime grimaces. He can still remember how upset everyone was - and how afraid he had been about the threat of perhaps losing her to such a thing.

"Oh," Brienne says through pursed lips. While she doesn't like Cersei only in the slightest, she surely has a bit of sympathy for her in that regard.

Jaime then shrugs truthfully, "And it's not like you can help it."

"No," she sighs.

No, she can't help this.

She can't fight this.

It just happens – and there is nothing she can do about it.

"Well, at least no one saw it happening. It would have been quite a fuss," Jaime offers weakly.

"Don't remind me," Brienne grunts. She keeps playing it through inside her head. What if Lord Tywin had been there? Or even worse, Cersei? Brienne surely wouldn't have left her chambers after that – only to wait for her father to fetch her and get her back to Tarth.

She curls in more on herself as another cramp hits her.

"You know," she says, her jaw set in a straight line. "You can just go. I won't be much fun for at least today. Maybe we can do the things tomorrow or so. I bet I'll be better by then."

She feels her bed shifting once more. Brienne doesn't turn her head, but almost jumps out of her skin as Jaime's hand snakes around her midsection. She swats off his hand as though it was a vicious animal, eyes wide in shock, "What are you doing?! Do you want me to punch you that badly?!"

"Shush now, wench, and lie back down," Jaime tells her sternly, having made up his mind.

"Are you insane?" she growls, blushing furiously. Damn the weather, damn the flowering, damn everything!

And damn Jaime Lannister for embarrassing her like that!

"Possibly," he shrugs with a grin. "But on this one you can trust me."

"Trust you?" she repeats. Jaime shifts closer once more. Brienne does her best to push her body away from him. Jaime chuckles at the longbow she tries to make out of herself.

"Just let me try something," he tries, his voice softer this time.

Brienne is stiff as a poker as he gently presses against her, not in the way she always pictured men to press against women. She simply feels his warmth radiating against her back – and finds it way too soothing to be true. However, her arms start to fidget almost automatically when he starts to run circles with his forearm on her abdomen.

"Hey!" she cries out.

"Wench, you know that I don't want anything from you in that way. My sister does it when she is having cramps. Warmth helps," Jaime argues, way too calm about this to Brienne's liking.

"I can do that myself," she retorts vehemently.

"Or you can shut up and let your friend help you," he suggests.

"I don't think that friends usually do that," Brienne snorts.

"We don't do anything that friends usually do. And anyways, it feels better now, doesn't it?" Jaime asks.

"… Maybe," Brienne admits at last, her voice no more than a mumble.

"So now, shut up, wench," he tells her, his voice contradicting the gruff order. He keeps running soothing circles on her abdomen.

Eventually both doze off in the heat of the day, the flies and mosquitos buzzing outside.

They can go on adventures the next day, too.


	10. Don't Forget

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Welcome back! Thanks for sticking around!

Reaching back to the last chapter, I was honestly a bit anxious about posting it - because it's no "fun" topic to talk about, really, and I already feared for many nopes to come my way, but I figured that since I'm writing a story about how the two grow up, it kinda belongs to the whole process, which is why I decided to include it after all.

To jbfangirl: I don't want to spoiler, obviously, but you are right, that was the vibe I wanted to transmit, and just how close they get in their childish understanding of the world as it is up to this point - without realizing the implications. But I have plans, many plans.

To the kind guest reviewer: I am glad that you enjoy the story so far. I really hope that I'm soon on AO3 as well, but that takes a little time.

In any case, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well ^^

* * *

A few days later, the two are back to their usual routines, the small incident long since forgotten. They just returned from riding the horses. Brienne claps the stallion on the back as she heads out of the box. Jaime leans against the wooden frame of the box, twisting the wheat's head he gathered when they stopped nearby a field to rest in his palm absently.

Once she closes the box, the two start their way back to the castle.

"Jaime?" she asks after a while.

"Yes, my wench?" Jaime grins, his eyes fixed on the bright sky above them.

"Cersei is pretty, right?" Brienne asks.

"The fairest girl in all of Casterly Rock, yeah. Why?" Jaime replies automatically. He tilts his head to look at Brienne, who ducks her head, "It's nothing."

"It is something if you bother to ask me," the boy insists.

"As I said, it's nothing. Enough of that," she declares. "I want to see Tyrion. The boy can't seem to get enough of the stories."

" _Please_ , he loves your stories _only_ because of my excellent co-performance," Jaime argues. Ever since Brienne decided to read to Tyrion, Jaime is part of the reading in that he enacts all of the stories. He plays all characters at once, wrestling himself to the ground, dying dramatically, jumping high in the air to fly away, sighing and whipping his head around the way the dumb geese do, dancing around to the song she hums, and slaying imaginary dragons and monsters with his wooden sword. Tyrion takes great pleasure in the reading sessions, and in fact Jaime and Brienne do, too.

"Of course," she snorts. The two start their way to Tyrion's chamber. As they pass by the patio, they can spot Cersei with a few friends.

"Oh, is she having someone over for visit, too?" Brienne asks, trying to sound enthusiastic about it. She doesn't want to give Jaime the impression that she doesn't like her. For that, Jaime loves Cersei too much in turn.

"Seemingly," he replies through pursed lips. Brienne grimaces as he stops, eyes narrowed at the entourage around his sister.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, coming to stand a bit away from him.

"No, no, nothing," Jaime replies, though both know it's a lie. "Hey, how about you go ahead already? I will be there shortly?"

His eyes won't leave his sister at all now.

"Oh, of course…," Brienne grimaces uncertainly. Before she can say anything more, Jaime already stalks over to where his sister is seated among a bunch of boys, as it turns out.

"Jaime! I didn't see you all day," Cersei greets him with a huge smile.

"I was with Brienne. Who are your friends?" Jaime demands.

"Jim, Renny, Waldor, and Bolton. They are squires here and were so kind to keep me company. After all, I hardly have any since we have the house guest," Cersei replies. Jaime sets his jaw in a straight line, his feelings suddenly in a turmoil to the point that he can't tell one thought from the other.

"Why don't you come sit with us?" she suggests.

"I was actually just about to read a story to Tyrion, with Brienne…," Jaime says, his voice trailing off, but Cersei goes on in her humming tune, "Oh, then of course you must tend to the beast. If you don't mind, I will go on with the lovely chat with my friends, then. Did you know that Bolton can hit a target with a knife from ten feet away? I find that impressive. How about you?"

"I hit the target from twenty, no trouble," Jaime replies.

"Ah, you are right. But as you said, you have to go," Cersei argues with a small grin.

"I think I can spare a few minutes," Jaime says automatically. "Does anyone have a knife?"

* * *

Brienne, after Jaime took off to see his sister, quickly made her way to Tyrion's room, who greeted her giddily, but looked rather confused at the fact that she came alone. Brienne simply took the boy by the hand and led him over to their usual spot, leaning against a wall with dozens of pillows on the ground. She pulled him into her lap, and the boy happily pressed against her.

Now they are sitting there, in silence.

"Where's Jaime?" Tyrion asks after a while.

"He's seemingly a bit late," Brienne replies.

"But he promised to come," Tyrion argues vehemently.

"I know, Tyrion. But there was certainly some important business he had to attend first. And I am sure he is very sorry for not being there on time. He was excited about it all day, I assure you," Brienne tries her best to comfort the small boy, realizing his distress. She knows what that business is, but that doesn't mean she has to burden Tyrion with it.

"But the story…," he says, his lower lip quivering.

"Well, maybe we can start without him? Would you like that?" Brienne suggests.

"But Jaime said he'd come," Tyrion insists. She pats him on the scalp, "I want you try something out for me, little one. Will you do that for me?"

He nods, sniffling softly.

"Good, I want you to close your eyes, and concentrate as hard as you can," she tells him. Tyrion does so, nodding frantically, "Uh-huh."

"Very well, so now I want you to picture Jaime standing right here, with his smug, stupid grin. Can you see him?" Brienne goes on. He nods again.

"And now you imagine strings attached on his arms and legs. Can you do that?" Brienne asks him with as much enthusiasm as she can muster.

"Uh-huh," Tyrion nods, licking his lips.

"And now you will realize that you can move him as you please. Do you see it?" the girl says.

"Like a puppet," Tyrion nods, and she agrees, "Like a puppet, right. So now, I will read the story to you and you will move the Jaime inside your head the way Jaime did it the other times before, or if you feel like it, have him move around in a way he didn't yet. Then we can tell him to do it the next time for real."

Tyrion nods, eyes closed, as Brienne starts to read, "Once upon a time, there was a peasant boy. He had no riches and no last name, but he was a hard-working lad, honest in heart and spirit. One day, an old man passed by his cottage. The boy, realizing how exhausted the old man was, offered him shelter, food, and drink. The old man told him that this was already the seventh cottage he had passed by, in the hope that someone would help him, but that the others had always sent him away. The boy only said that it is the right thing to do, and offered the old man his own bed to sleep in, while he slept in the hay himself. The following day, the old man wanted to head his ways again. He thanked the peasant and gave him a silvery egg as a reward..."

Today makes Brienne realize three things.

The first is that Tyrion really is an adorable child, and she loves him like the little brother she never had. While she had an older brother and two little sisters, she never had a little brother, and if Tyrion had been born a Tarth, she would have been very happy about that.

The second thing Brienne understands is that she is not Cersei. And that means that if Jaime is to pick between her and Brienne, the choice will always be his sister, for she is the fairest girl in all of Casterly Rock.

The third thing the young girl realizes is that while Tyrion and she may attach imagined strings on Jaime's imagined body to move him in a certain way inside their heads, the only one who can make Jaime move a certain way in the real world is Cersei.

And so Brienne tries to pull Tyrion and herself into the story the best she can, hoping that this is a place Cersei cannot follow them to.

* * *

"My father wrote to me. He'll return to Casterly Rock tomorrow, if everything goes according to plan," Brienne says, her legs dangling from the wall the two are seated upon, enjoying the view of the sun disappearing into the ocean.

Jaime was very apologetic after he missed out on the reading session. However, Brienne tries her best not to hold any grudges. And she tries her best to understand that Cersei has a sort of power over Jaime that leaves him in fact powerless against her. Yet, for as long as Jaime apologizes and returns, she doesn't mind, or well, she can look past it. Friendship, yes, _friendship_ , of that she is certain now, is too precious to throw away over such matters.

Brienne doesn't dare to say out loud just how satisfactory it was, but to see Cersei narrowing her eyes at Jaime over the fact that he and Brienne went on playing and jesting the way they always did the very next day already made her grin mischievously.

"Well, then I hope it doesn't go according to plan. Then we'd have a bit more time," Jaime argues. He is honestly glad that Brienne didn't hold it against him that he didn't show up to the reading session the two had planned on with Tyrion. He knows just how seriously Brienne takes promises, however small they may appear to other people. Every promise is an oath, and an oath is something you have to fulfil no matter the costs.

"I wished so, too, but my Father is usually always on time… but maybe you can come to Tarth the next time?" Brienne suggests hopefully.

"I hope so, but I don't know if Father will let me," Jaime shrugs. This reunion already took over a year, and only came about because of fortunate circumstances. Jaime doesn't know if fortune will be on their side once more.

"Well, we can hope after all," Brienne shrugs.

"And we'll write in any case," Jaime assures her.

"Absolutely," she nods in agreement.

"You will have a lot of writing and reading to do once Tyrion can do both these things. He will send so many ravens that you'll have no way to feed them all. The castle will be covered in black birds," Jaime chuckles. While Tyrion is still too small for such feelings, it seems as though he became a bit infatuated with his giantess.

"Tyrion will write to me already now, didn't you hear?" Brienne smiles.

"What now?" Jaime frowns.

"He insisted that he will draw me pictures. And I am very much looking forward to all of them," Brienne smiles happily.

"More than to my letters?" Jaime looks at her.

"Of course. For Tyrion, it's a lot more effort than for you," Brienne rolls her eyes as Jaime clutches his chest again, feigning pain for yet another stab to his heart.

"It's a lot effort for me, wench, you know my troubles," Jaime argues with mock vehemence.

"But you have greatly improved since," Brienne replies. Jaime stops with the acting, straightening back up, eyes fixed on her, "I have?"

"Of course. Your writing gets smoother with each letter. Didn't you realise so yourself?" she frowns.

"I didn't think it would… _reflect_ in my writing," Jaime replies now almost shyly – a small blush spreading over his cheeks.

He doesn't know why or how, but he feels really, honestly proud of himself now. Jaime managed to overcome the dancing letters - by himself. While Brienne gave him the advice to practice with stories and gave him a chance to practise through the letters, he achieved that by himself in the end. He tamed the letters. He grew - thanks to her. And to be told this is even a greater feeling.

"It does, believe me. Soon, no one will be able to tell that you had a bit of a trouble with dancing letters before," Brienne assures him.

He smiles at her.

The two glance at the sunset again, hoping that Brienne's father takes a bit longer anyway.

* * *

"Nooooo!" Tyrion wails, now that Brienne's father awaits her by the port to join her for the trip back to Tarth. Obviously, her father didn't run late at all. So now, the Lannisters have gathered to bid their guest farewell. Tyrion, however, doesn't want his giantess to leave at all, which is why he has been crying all morning long.

"Can someone fetch a governess, please?" Tywin yells into the castle, making a guard jump and run.

"Milord, if you allow, may I?" Brienne intercepts, though in a polite manner.

"Go ahead," Tywin shrugs. Brienne picks Tyrion up, rocking him in her arm, "Now, now, little one. No tears. That brings bad luck and lots of rain. And I can't use that for my way back to Tarth. Just imagine that I get into a storm because of your tears!"

"Oh no!" Tyrion cries out aghast.

"It's alright if you stop crying now," Brienne tells him. Cersei mutters some incoherent curses to herself while Jaime grins at how well Brienne knows how to handle Tyrion.

"But I will miss you," Tyrion brings out as he calms down, his voice still quivering.

"And I will miss you even more, but I have to get back home. I must find new stories, right?" Brienne argues, to which the boy nods frantically.

"See? And I am sure we will see each other again soon enough. So no more tears. Big boys don't cry, and you're a big boy, aren't you?" Brienne says with a smile.

"Said the giant boy-girl to the dwarf…," Cersei mutters, which only earns her a sharp hiss from her twin brother, "Cersei!"

"Yes, I'm a big boy," Tyrion nods frantically, ignoring Cersei, his eyes only fixed on the two sapphires in front of him.

"That's right, so no more tears," Brienne smiles, and Tyrion agrees, "No more tears."

She puts him down, planting a kiss on the top of his head. Tyrion dances around gleefully. That is when there is the sound of horses pawing the ground rings out.

"I suppose that is my carriage," Brienne smiles uncertainly. She then turns to Jaime's father, bowing to him. "Lord Tywin, in my Father's name and my own, I would like to thank you for your kindness and your hospitality another time."

He nods curtly.

"It was nice seeing you, Cersei," Brienne lies swiftly, turning to Jaime's twin sister. The Lannister girl just snorts in return. Brienne's eyes focus on Jaime this time, "Well, this is goodbye, then."

"Write me the first thing you get back home," Jaime tells her.

"Of course," she nods. He puts his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You got to kiss her!" Tyrion cries out from beneath them. The two glance down at the boy.

"Tyrion!" Jaime cries out, fighting any urge not to just kick him, lightly so, but still.

"In the story they kiss before they bid farewell!" Tyrion explains.

"What?" Tywin can't help but frown, so Brienne quickly explains, "I read _The Castle in the Sea_ to him, Milord. In the end, the protagonist bids the princess of the deep sea farewell by kissing her on the cheek. I suppose he just remembered that now, Lord Tywin."

"But Tyrion tends to forget that we are not living in stories," Cersei grunts, twisting a strand of her shining hair between her fingers.

"We are!" Tyrion insists.

"No, we are not!" Cersei retorts.

"In any case," Brienne intervenes. "I should be on my way. Thank you another time."

She means to turn away, but that is when Jaime presses a kiss on her cheek with a smug grin. She pushes him away playfully, "Remember that the knight drowned in the end."

Jaime snickers, "I'm just doing what my little brother wants."

Cersei is boiling behind him, but Jaime ignores it this time.

Brienne offers a small grin, "Goodbye, Jaime."

"Bye," he nods. She disappears down the stairs and into the carriage. Tywin turns to take his leave. Cersei nudges Jaime in the side roughly, "What was that?"

"I bid her farewell," Jaime shrugs.

"You better not do that again," Cersei mutters.

"It was a kiss on the cheek, Cersei," Jaime rolls his eyes, folding his hands in the nape of his neck.

"Never. Again," she warns him.

"Of course, my Lady," Jaime sighs, annoyed.

"Well, at least it will be the way it usually is now that she is gone," Cersei sighs in relief.

"Right, it will be the way it usually is…," Jaime grimaces.

He glances around as he passes through the corridors with the rest of his family – and no one speaks a word.

No one calls him Goldie Curl anymore.

It's silent again.

And suddenly, his life seems so boring again.


	11. Sapphire Eyes

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking around!

To jbfangirl: Once again, glad that you like it - and huge thanks that you keep leaving reviews. I hope I captured this ongoing struggle for Jaime as well as Brienne.

Mini-spoiler (don't like, don't read, or read later): This chapter is _roughly_ based on happenings in the canon, e.g. Tywin splitting the siblings up. I don't want to dig too much into it, so in case it's incorrect or not perfectly in-tune with the original material... insert AU warning here - or blame online sources for wrongly informing me. I also took the freedom to have Tywin back in Casterly Rock despite his responsibilities to the King. I just found it a stronger interaction than having him write a letter or so. At the same time, it might be a wee bit constructed as to how I establish the reason for the voyage, but since they are now older and Jaime is about to join the Kingsguard, I needed a bit of a political reason, and that is the thing that came to my mind. And I hate politics, as you already know. So please, forgive me, and see it as simply a way to make it happen.

In any case, I hope you'll enjoy the chapter ;)

* * *

 _Once upon a time, there was a knight. He was the best in all the lands of the kingdom. He had spent all his life refining his skill to fulfil his oath to the king to guard him and the kingdom._

 _One day, the wise king had the knight step before him to tell him that he was to go on a quest. He was to find an old relict holding magical powers out of epic proportions. The knight, of course, readily agreed, and vowed to his sweet king to fulfil his duties._

 _And so the knight set out on his journey, accompanied only by his trusty steed and the thirst for adventure. What the travelling knight did not know was that he was to go on the greatest adventure of his life entire._

 _On the first day, he met an old witch. She gave him a book, the book of words and spells. The knight was confused. He didn't know any words other than his name. And so the witch told him that the book contains all he must know. The knight travelled to the next city, where he met a talking eagle. And the eagle said to him that the relict was no relict, but alive. The eagle gave him one of his feathers as he bid him farewell. When the knight travelled through shadowy woods, he stumbled over a nymph. She told him that the relict was within a shell of flesh. The knight thanked her for the advice and she gave him a kiss in return._

 _The knight kept searching everywhere in the king's lands, but could not find the relict he sought. Weary of his voyage, he put up his camp in a cave, marvelling over the gifts handed to him throughout his journey. He eyed them in the light of the small fire, inspected them from top to bottom. At last he opened the thick book the witch had given him. To his shock, the book was empty. Not a single word written upon its pages. The knight felt betrayed and he thrusted the book back into his leather bag, not wishing to look at it again._

 _Snow began to fall heavily, and in the distance, he saw a small light. The knight glanced at it in shock. He thought that there was not a single soul in these woods, but the light kept approaching, closer and closer. The knight grabbed his sword, ready to slay whatever enemy might seek to take his life. The light was suddenly right in front of the cave and the knight drew his sword, ready to strike, but in peeked a woman, fairer than the queen or any woman the knight had ever set his eyes upon. Her eyes pale blue like ice, her skin pale as porcelain, the hair white like snow, running all the way down to her calves. She wore no more than a thin dress, trembling from the cold._

 _The knight offered her to come inside and warm herself. She came inside without another word and sat down next to him. The knight was confused, since she did not utter a single word. He asked her name. She just looked at him, not understanding, not hearing. She did not make a single sound, no matter what the knight tried._

 _So he took out the book the witch had given him and started to scribble in it. He drew pictures, used his entire body to tell her the story of his life. He then asked for her story. So the woman took the book from him and started to scribble, too. But beside the pictures she wrote letters. She noted down her story, told about her mother and her father, how they had died in a storm. How she had been robbed of everything she once owned, and set out in the woods with no more than the lantern and the thin dress she wore. She wrote about the fear she had felt, the terror. She wrote about Death clutching at the hem of her dress. But the knight could not read the letters. He did not speak that language. And so the words remained in that book, while read, but not understood._

 _The knight took her with him on his quest the following day. And the woman agreed to travel with him. Every night they wrote in the book. And now that they travelled next to each other, the knight scribbled about their day, what had happened, whom they had met. And the woman whose name he still didn't know, wrote the letters in correspondence. And so the knight spent his nights reading, learning the words by recalling his own story, their story._

 _They travelled past seas and rivers, past mountains and valleys, past towns and cities, bridges and castles, through spring, summer, autumn, and winter. And every night, they recalled the day, and the knight recalled the other days, and the more he recalled their story, the more he understood hers. He started to understand the words at the very beginning of the book, where she had put her stories next to his._

 _The night he first understood, he simply held her close, didn't dare to let her go. And she smiled against his shoulder, against the tears of joy and remorse. He asked her to give him her name, and so she gave it to him – and he gave her his._

 _James and Britt travelled to all places of the world they knew, and further, in search of the magical item James' king had sent him out to find all those years ago. He never forgot his oath to his king._

 _During spring, he asked for Britt's hand under a tree, and put the eagle's feather in her hair. And nine months later, their daughter was born, Muriel. She looked just like her mother, except for the brownish hair colour. James cried in joy and put Muriel's name next to theirs in the book. He kissed her on the forehead, then his wife. He wrote it all down, tried his best to capture everything on these very pages, not to miss a thing, an inch of his daughter and wife._

 _But the knight, one day, realized that he wouldn't ever find whatever it was that his sweet King had demanded from him. His limbs grew heavier, his hair greyer. And so the three made their way to the king's castle. James stepped before his king, knelt down, and apologized that he had failed his sweet king, who has always been good to him. He told him of the book and how he mastered the words, but not the world. The wise king then told him that he had long since found it, his voice booming in joy. The knight looked up at him. The wise king nodded at Britt and Muriel and said to James that they are the relict, a storage full of magical stories, all of which he was eager to learn from James. And so James started to recall their story and told everything to his sweet king. During the night, he noted down the day of his return and put the King's story next to theirs, too._

 _Many years later, Britt and James had grown old of age, their joints no longer smooth, their bones porous and cracking. Muriel tended to them well. On a day late in autumn, James made Muriel sit by their bed. He handed her the book he and Britt had written over the years and told her to continue their story. Muriel cried, not wanting to continue the story all alone, if that meant they died, but James told her that they were in that book forever and that for as long as she kept retelling their stories, they would be with her at all times._

 _It was then that James recalled the words of his king and of the people he had met throughout the journey. He recalled how the witch had given him the empty book and told him that the book contained all he must know. And she was right. That was all he had to know. It contained his story now, the story he put next to Britt's, Muriel's, and his king's. He recalled how the eagle had told him that the relict was alive. And it was, it was filled with life with every of its pages, with every mark, every blotch of ink, every letter, every picture. They told the story of their journey, their lives. And he recalled the nymph who had offered him a kiss, as tender as had been his first kiss with Britt, long before he met her. How she had told him that the relict was in flesh. James grasped Britt's hand then, because the book was the relict as well as his wife has been - all along. She had listened to all of his stories, she had travelled with him from the day on they met. She had told her story and had put it next to his. She had given him the treasure of the world, which was their child.  
_

 _When time came for them both, neither was afraid. They held hands as they travelled away from Muriel to have her own adventures to write down in the book._

 _And so James and Britt, with hands entwined, leapt into the next story, the next tale to be told, the next tale to put into their book, their bodies, for the relict holding most magic is the story itself._

* * *

Jaime smiles as he reads the last words out loud, knowing the words by heart now that he has read _The Travelling Knight_ how many times? Jaime lost count. He closes the book and puts it to the side, straightening up from his Recamier swiftly.

The sun stands high over Casterly Rock, the heat making everyone lazy. He is back from battle in a few weeks now, and his thoughts are blurry to say the least. Cersei is now in King's Landing, by the side of her father, as Lord Hand to Aerys II Targaryen. Since Jaime wants to become a knight, he did not join the two in King's Landing, earning his spurs in battle.

It broke his heart as they practically had to tear Cersei away from Casterly Rock and him. And it broke his heart ever the more that this meant that his other half was taken away from him.

Yet another stab was added to his aching heart when his Father wrote to him that he would be in Casterly Rock soon, because of some business that required his presence back home so that even the King had to clear him of his responsibilities as the Lord Hand. Not that Jaime cares if his Father is there or not. What brought him close to tears was that Tywin specifically stated in the letter that he would come alone and that Cersei was to remain in King's Landing.

Later, when Tywin arrived and Jaime demanded an explanation as to why Tywin had left her in King's Landing, his Father only replied that she had misbehaved numerous times, robbing herself of the reward of coming home this time. Jaime's fist had clenched to the point that his nails left bloody crescents in his palm, since his Father obviously ignored that he thereby punished not only Cersei but also him. Or rather, Tywin knew and always knows very well that he punishes them both by keeping them apart.

Tywin is still mad at Jaime that he means to pursue his career as a true knight, and as one of the Kingsguard no less. Their vowel of not having heirs or lands is what makes his Father so grim for certain. While Jaime was not yet appointed the position, he is positive that he has good chances. After all, Cersei did not only convince him of the wonderful idea but also made all necessary arrangements.

Because that might mean that they can finally be together forever and always.

They would both be in King's Landing, and no one could claim him anymore other than the Kingsguard and her.

Even their Father will be unable to disrupt this plan once it fully unfolds.

Jaime shakes his head. It only makes him weary to think of the past and the distant future. He is a man of action, a man of the moment. And at the moment, Cersei is not here, so he has to find himself something to do until he receives news from the Kingsguard.

However, that is when there is suddenly a knock on the door, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Come on in," he says. A servant with mud-coloured hair and freckles peeks inside.

"What is it?" Jaime asks. The boy comes inside, holding a crumpled letter out to him.

"I am supposed to give you this, Ser Jaime," the servant replies. Jaime takes the parchment from the young boy, glancing at the seal. That's a letter by Brienne!

He didn't hear from her for a few moons now, to his great disappointment. The time when she was over in Casterly Rock seems so far away these days.

"I must add that the letter arrived late," the boy says, not looking at Jaime.

"Why is that?" the Lannister boy frowns.

"The raven that was supposed to deliver it died once in Casterly Rock, before it made it to the castle," the servant explains.

"Who found the letter?" Jaime frowns.

"Your brother, Lord Tyrion, Ser Jaime," the servant replies.

"And why didn't he give it to me by himself?" Jaime frowns. He knows that Tyrion, too, was utterly disappointed that Brienne did not reply to his mails in a while.

"He was called off to see your Father, Ser Jaime. He gave it to me, urging me to bring it to you presently," the servant replies.

"Thank you, you may leave now," Jaime tells him. The boy is gone at an instant. The Lannister son sits down at his table, ripping the wax seal open in a hurry. He unfolds the parchment, a smile spreading over his features.

How long he waited for the sensations of the smell of wax, the feeling of parchment against his skin, the faint odour of dried ink. Receiving letters from Brienne grew to be the one way to always make him smile, no matter how disappointed or sad he may feel deep inside.

* * *

 _Dear Jaime,_

 _The news reached Tarth that you are considered as one of the Kingsguard, to which I congratulate you hereby. As I heard, it would make you the youngest member the Kingsguard has ever seen._

 _I am very proud of you._

 _At least one of us is living our dream._

 _I am also to inform you that I am now betrothed to Ser Humfrey Wagstaff, Castellan of Grandview for House Grandison._

 _My Father told me the news yesterday night. Though I must say that by the time you read this, it won't be yesterday anymore, and long since past tomorrow._

 _I saw Ser Humfrey once before, though I have not spoken to him yet. He is to arrive here little time from now, or so my Father informed me._

 _He has the nose of a hawk._

 _He is sixty-five, for all I know. That is barely five years younger than my Father, I may add._

 _I do not know what will happen now, other than that I am soon to be the wife of Ser Humfrey Wagstaff and that there is no chance for me anymore to become a knight, or so it seems._

 _Maybe the Lannisters will attend the wedding? I do not know if it is your responsibility, or if your Father would allow, but…_

 _Maybe you can come after all._

 _In any case, I hope you are faring well, Jaime._

 _And for your own sake, I hope that your sword skills have greatly improved since the last time we have fought, or else I would have to_ _both_ _call the Kingsguard into question for allowing you to join them and fear for you to end up injured or dead on the very first occasion you are in a real fight._

 _I wish you all the best in the Kingsguard._

 _Brienne_

* * *

Jaime stares at the letter, the handwriting as neat as always, no blotches of ink, not a single flaw, but… but there are blotches of tears on the parchment, long since dried. Brienne cried while composing this letter.

He jumps up from his chair and hurries out of the room before he can even think of it, down the corridors, until he finds his father in his study.

"Father, I must go to Tarth!" he declares without further prelude. Tywin looks up from his papers slowly, "A good day to you, too, my son."

"My apologies for being that rash, but I must travel to Tarth presently," Jaime says a little quieter now, though his eyes speak a different language.

"Jaime, you have responsibilities, especially now that you are considered for the Kingsguard," Tywin argues, waving with his hand dismissively.

"Why can't I attend my old friend's wedding?" Jaime insists.

"What?" Tywin frowns at him.

"Brienne wrote a letter to me, explaining to me that she is to marry. Something I have not heard about at all. So now that I know of it, of course I want to be there," Jaime explains, licking his lips. He can't even say what he would want in Tarth, or at the wedding. He just knows that he must be there.

"Son, there will be no wedding," Tywin tells him.

"But in the letter she said…," Jaime mutters, now honestly at a loss.

"The wedding was called off, Jaime. I received the news already yesterday," Tywin tells him.

"What?!" Jaime gapes.

And _of course_ Tywin did not care to mention it to him yesterday…

"Was the letter perhaps delivered late by any chance?" Tywin cocks an eyebrow at his son, who gives a small nod, letting the information sink in.

"Then that explains that," his father goes on.

"But what happened that it was called off?" Jaime asks.

"As far as I am informed, Lady Brienne _duelled_ her betrothed for reasons I do not know about. This duel got out of hand and Ser Humfrey ended up with a few broken bones. And along with the bones broke the betrothal. So there is no reason that I should send you to Tarth," Tywin replies nonchalantly.

"She didn't marry," Jaime repeats.

"No, she didn't marry – and likely won't any time soon. I don't think that there is any sane man in the Seven Kingdoms who would still want to marry her, let alone approach her," Tywin tells him. Jaime still stares at the ground.

Brienne almost got married – and he wouldn't have known.

And the betrothal was broken – and he didn't know until now either.

"Was that all?" Tywin asks.

"Yes, that was all… thank you for informing me," Jaime replies automatically, turning around to leave again. He closes the door behind him, dragging his feet back to his chamber. Once inside, Jaime lets himself fall back down on the Recamier, picking up his book and putting it over his eyes.

* * *

A couple of days later, Tywin, Tyrion, and Jaime are dining and sipping wine.

"Jaime?" his father addresses him after a while. Jaime swallows, looking him right in the eye, "Yes, Father?"

"As it appears, there is a way for you to go to Tarth after all, if you are still eager to go to the Sapphire Isles, as you claimed the last time you _burst_ into my study," Tywin says, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Jaime stares, holding on to the edge of the table not to fall off the stool.

"Of course I am eager to go, but what made you change your mind, if you don't mind my asking?" Jaime questions. Living with Tywin Lannister teaches you that everything comes with a price.

"Tyrion suggested that we might improve our trading route in the Narrow Sea if we redirected some of the ships over Tarth instead of Parchments, as we usually do," Tywin begins, though there is not a hint of praise in his voice.

"Oh," Jaime nods, glancing at Tyrion, who takes another sip of wine, shrugging at his father's tone. He is so used to it that he doesn't even hear it anymore. "Good thinking, brother."

Tyrion smiles, lips still around the golden cup.

"That is why the Lannisters have to discuss with the Tarths if this could be established. Since I have to be back in King's Landing soon, I will entrust the negotiations into you care," Tywin says.

"But I am not well handling such negotiations, Father," Jaime argues.

"And usually I wouldn't send either one of you yet," Tywin replies primly.

"What about Uncle Kevan?" Jaime frowns, kicking himself under the table for blurting out with a possible chance not to go to Tarth after all.

"He has other duties to handle in my name, leaving you as the only applicable Lannisters to handle the situation for me, since I cannot answer all the calls due to my responsibilities to the Iron Throne as the Lord Hand," Tywin says. "I have decided that Tyrion will handle the negotiations per se. I already informed Lord Selwyn of the circumstance, and sent my assurance that while Tyrion is not old enough and not Lord of Casterly Rock by _any_ means, he is given the exclusive permit to handle this particular business in my stead."

"That doesn't explain why you would let me go to Tarth, too, though," Jaime frowns.

"Obviously, you will serve as the _proper_ Lannister representative. I would not dare to risk Lord Selwyn's goodwill by simply sending Tyrion to such negotiations. He is in favour of you, which will help our cause. The Lord of Tarth already wrote back and told me that he agrees to have you both as his guests," Tywin tells him. Jaime tries his best to hold back the growl. He knows that his father hates Tyrion ever since their mother died giving birth to him, but to him, that doesn't give him any right to treat Tyrion the way he does.

However, whenever he calls his father upon it, Tywin just tells him this one thing, namely that it is not up to him to say, and that he is their father, which gives him any right to treat his children in whatever way he pleases. Because he owns them.

"That sounds like a very good idea to me," Jaime nods.

"Very well, you will take off two days from now. I expect good results," Tywin says.

"Of course, Father," the Lannister brother reply in unison.

Once the dinner is over, Tyrion and Jaime make their way to their chambers. Once they are out of eavesdrop, Jaime stops, bends down, and hugs his brother, who only scoffs at him, "What's gotten into you, brother? I am not open for such things!"

Jaime pulls away, "I am just thankful that you make this possible."

"It is a good improvement for our trading route. That is no lie," Tyrion insists. "And of course I want to see Brienne myself after all this time."

"Ah, I knew it, childhood infatuations hardly die," Jaime chuckles as the two start to walk again, both having the hands folded in their backs.

He can still remember the glances of awe Tyrion, still a child, had for his giantess Brienne.

"You are the one to talk," Tyrion mutters to himself.

"What?" Jaime frowns.

"Nothing, nothing," Tyrion grins, but then changes the topic swiftly. "I bet she will be pleasantly surprised to finally have a chance to beat you up again."

" _Please_ , as if the wench would beat me now. I am a knight, and soon one of the Kingsguard," Jaime argues.

"Make sure you don't rub it under her nose once we are there," Tyrion warns him, suddenly rather serious.

"Why?" Jaime frowns. Tyrion nudges him in the leg, now very serious, "Because Brienne certainly doesn't need a reminder of the life she cannot have. I know that you see her as a boy, still, but Brienne cannot pursue her dreams the way you can. So keep that in mind when around her. I don't want to hear that you made her cry for that reason. You are no longer small children."

Jaime grimaces. He knows that Tyrion is right. No matter how young he is, his little brother has a curious kind of wisdom, which started to bloom very early in his life. But it is as he says: The letter Brienne wrote to Jaime only underllines this point. She cannot follow her dreams the way he can. While his father is not pleased about his wishes to become one of the Kingsguard, it is even harder for Brienne, because she is the only heir who can keep the Tarth lineage alive, which means that she is bound to marital life no matter what.

"No, youths is what you call it now, or half-adults, I'm not sure. I still don't feel very much like an adult," Jaime shrugs. "Old enough to fight and drink, old enough to be a knight, but when I sit next to Father, I still feel as though I was at the age of ten, getting lectured for my wrongdoings."

"To be a true adult you are too much of a fool anyways," Tyrion sighs.

"What? You are still a child," Jaime argues.

"The magic of my dwarfism is that I will always look like a child," Tyrion shrugs. "And to compensate that, I spend my time reading, which means that I already have the mind of an old man. I just still have the charming looks of a young boy."

Jaime grins. He always admires about Tyrion how he manages to hold his head high no matter how much smaller people tend to make him.

"Though I do wonder…," Tyrion says after a while, his voice trailing off.

"About what?" Jaime frowns.

"Who would shoot a raven from the sky?" Tyrion muses, not looking at him.

"Someone shot the raven with Brienne's letter, you think?" Jaime frowns.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I inspected the cadaver a little closer. I am quite sure that it was shot with a stone, and then left to die. It was mere chance that I found it outside the walls of Casterly Rock as I was on the way downtown," the younger brother replies.

"That's curious, really, but then again… as children, Brienne and I also shot pebbles at birds," Jaime shrugs, smiling at the memory.

"But ravens with messages?" Tyrion argues. "The children around Casterly Rock know that it may cost them their heads. While they are the common people, they are not so foolish, well, most of them."

"Maybe it was an accident after all," Jaime shrugs.

"It might be," Tyrion sighs. "Well, I suppose I will retire to my room. I want to go over the maps another time to be sure of my arguments to convince Lord Selwyn of our plan."

"Father doesn't give you enough credit for this, dear brother," Jaime grimaces in all earnest.

"When does he ever?" Tyrion shrugs nonchalantly. "I will see you in the morning, then. Good night."

"Good night," Jaime smiles as Tyrion disappears into the next hallway leading to his chamber. Jaime keeps walking, the moonlight raining down on him.

He knows his mind should be reeling about the news, but all he can do is glance at the moonlight illuminating the hallway in blue.

Because it makes him think of sapphires.

Jaime smiles happily.

He is going to the Sapphire Isles.

He is going to see the Sapphire Eyes.


	12. Back

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking with me and my little story!

To my Argentinian pal: Thank you for yet another wonderfully kind review. And I can only agree that there are little chances for happy endings in the real Game of Thrones universe. The rule of thumb really is that everyone just dies in the end. Obviously, I won't confirm a happy ending at this point, though I keep the fingers crossed for my Brienne and Jaime.

So... here goes the next chapter ;)

Enjoy ^^

* * *

And so, after a long voyage full of anxious waiting and nagging anticipation, Jaime can stomp his feet on Tarth's loamy soil again. To his surprise, it feels more at home than does the ground in Casterly Rock. In fact it feels so homely that he doesn't even care about the drizzle painting the sky in different shades of grey and mossy green. Jaime shakes his head, the beads of condensed water falling out of his hair like shards of glass, as he and Tyrion are escorted to the Tarth Residence, where they are instantly greeted by Lord Selwyn. He claps Jaime on the shoulder with a shine of adoration in his eyes, telling him again and again that he is glad to finally see him back in Tarth, something Jaime can only agree to.

It's curious and reassuring at the same time that he grew to be a part of a family not his - even though time and distance parted them in more than one way.

Jaime is ever the more pleased that Lord Selwyn greets Tyrion with about the same amount of enthusiasm, his eyes not clouded by silent judgment. The way Jaime reckons, it is that the Lord brought up a rare creature as well, which is the reason why he can see past a person's grotesqueness more easily than others - and see what is within. Tyrion seems a bit caught off-guard that Lord Selwyn seems to take him for not just half of a man, but simply a Lannister heir, if not friend.

"I think our Father wrote to you about the proposal we have to make. I can only repeat another time that he is desolate that he cannot attend the meeting himself and has to send his callow sons in his stead, but as the Lord Hand, he cannot always choose where to go," Tyrion tells Lord Selwyn swiftly.

"Oh no, I am by no means desolate. While it would have been a great pleasure to see him back here, I understand that he has responsibilities, to the Iron Throne no less. And I have only heard the best of you from Brienne and Jaime when it comes to your wit and skills of negotiation, so I am sure that we will find an agreement favourable for both sides in no time," Lord Selwyn smiles.

"Speaking of Brienne, where is she?" Jaime jumps in. Tyrion grins – he watched his brother from the corner of his eye as Jaime tried to find already the smallest opportunity to lead the conversation to his childhood friend.

Because, after all, Jaime is by no means here because of the trading routes. Jaime's sole reason to be in Tarth is its Maiden.

"Oh, she rode to town a few hours before your arrival, to see the blacksmith about her sword," Lord Selwyn. "We didn't expect you so early on."

"Typical," Jaime chuckles to himself.

"And I may add that while I tell her time and time again that my dear daughter can leave the duty to a servant, she insists to talk to the blacksmith in person," the Lord of Tarth exhales.

"Certainly to make sure that he does everything according to her wishes. I wouldn't do it another way, Lord Selwyn," Jaime tells him with a grin.

"Well, I can't say much about the matter, I am not too profound with the sword," Tyrion shrugs. "So I will follow my brother in his argument. As a knight, he should know."

"Ah, right. I also wanted to congratulate you to your position in the Kingsguard," Selwyn smiles at him.

"I am not yet appointed, Lord Selwyn," Jaime argues.

"That's only a matter of time, I'm sure," the Lord winks at him encouragingly.

"Thank you," Jaime smiles. When he told his father about the plans of joining the Kingsguard, Tywin had said nothing, simply glared at him. When his father eventually decided to talk, he only informed his oldest son that he was very disappointed, since he had hoped that Jaime would take care of Casterly Rock in his stead. What really stung was when the Lord Hand said that he thought he could trust Jaime, but was seemingly mistaken with that, because Jaime didn't seem to care for the family.

Lord Selwyn, by contrast, shows just the reaction Jaime had desperately, if secretly, been craving for: Approval, appreciation, pride.

Really, sometimes he wished people could choose their family instead of being born into one.

"I remember as if it were yesterday that you and Brienne fought with wooden swords, dreaming of becoming like the knights in her books. And now you two are youths, ready to tackle the world, ready to join the Kingsguard, even," Lord Selwyn smiles at him, clapping Jaime on the shoulder once more. "Though I reckon I'm just getting old and nostalgic." **  
**

"I suppose we all like to live in the past a little bit," Jaime shrugs.

Tyrion means to say something, but that is when the gates open, and a tall figure steps inside, pulling the hood away, revealing short blonde curls. She shakes her head, the rain drops falling off of her like crystals.

"Father, I have talked to the blacksmith and just imagine what he said after I…," she means to say, but that is when she sees two figures standing in front of her father.

Jaime finds his mouth instantly flexing into a big smile as her sapphire eyes glance at him. She hurries over to them. The older Lannister brother is already sure to find her hand on his shoulder, if not his body wrapped in an embrace, but Brienne is instantly on one knee, pulling Tyrion close to her chest, "Tyrion! By the Seven! It's been so long! You can't imagine how much I missed you! I was so glad when the letter reached me that you would come for visit!"

Tyrion laughs into her shoulder, knowing just by the stance of his brother's feet that the youth is upset, if not jealous.

"My, my, Milady Brienne, you never cease to impress me," Tyrion says as she pulls away.

"Impress?" she frowns.

"As a dwarf, I naturally envy you for your ability to climb closer to the sky above us," he winks at her. Brienne pats him on the shoulder affectionately, "You are too kind."

"Uh-hum," Jaime coughs lightly. Brienne grins, turning her attention to the smug boy.

"Jaime, it's been a while," she greets him casually, though her soft chuckling gives the tease away at an instant. "And I daresay that you are still shorter than me."

"That might be. Not everyone can be a giantess or giant," Jaime grins. He is glad to see her eyes with the familiar spark of energy. On the way to Tarth, Jaime could not stop thinking about the images of Brienne writing the last letter he received, the tears in her eyes, the resignation. To see her as lively as ever truly is a relief.

"Brienne, dear, why don't you take our guests to their chambers?" Lord Selwyn suggests with a warm smile.

"Of course, Father," Brienne says.

"Milord, without meaning to interrupt, I hoped to have a word with you about the trading route presently – just as I hope that you have some wine to spare," Tyrion says, stepping over to the Lord, who gives a grin, "We make a fine drop here on Tarth, I'm sure you will enjoy it a lot."

"Splendid, then how about we do that while Lady Brienne shows my brother to his chamber?" Tyrion suggests. Jaime chuckles softly as Tyrion and the Lord disappear, leaving the childhood friends standing in the empty Great Hall.

"What brings you here? In the letter it sounded as though Tyrion would be the only Lannister to come," Brienne asks.

"Well, I am sorry to deceive your hopes of having my brother to yourself, but Father told me to come along… As the _true_ representative of the House of Lannister," Jaime grins, but his shoulders slump slightly towards the end as she sees her grimace. She well understands the implication as to why their father wouldn't send Tyrion alone. And it makes her sick each time.

"Is he alright?" she asks.

"He knows how to take it. And for as long as there is wine, he will be the happiest small man you have ever seen," Jaime assures her.

"That's good," she agrees. The two start to walk as Jaime goes on, "I heard that your marriage was called off after all."

"He didn't win against me in battle, what can I say?" Brienne shrugs with a small grin.

"He can count himself lucky that he walked out of this alive, I reckon?" Jaime smirks.

"Right," she agrees.

She escaped that betrothal barely so, however. Brienne wouldn't have written to Jaime in sheer distress over her upcoming proposal if she hadn't been scared the way she was when her father informed her about the betrothal - and her betrothed.

She thought it was over for her.

Brienne thought that she already lost the fight, but then he made the one mistake that no one should ever make around her: He told her that once they were married, Brienne were to act like a lady.

And Brienne of Tarth is no lady.

It was the greatest satisfaction and relief as she heard his bones cracking. To her, it sounded like shackles breaking open and away.

If only for a short while.

But for now, she cherishes the time she has. Until her father tries to find her another man will take a while, especially since her drastic actions surely scared off all men in the area.

"How did it even come to the duel? I mean... what kind of a man fights his betrothed?" Jaime can't help but ask. Brienne shrugs at him, "Upon our first meeting, he said to me that once we were married, I would have to behave like a lady. I... disagreed."

"I understand _your_ motives, but what brought him to the point? I mean... that _we_ two beat each other up is due to our kind of friendship, but how can an old bastard dare to duel his betrothed - who is still a youth?" Jaime grimaces. That is something he didn't yet understand at all. Even Tyrion couldn't deliver him a satisfactory answer.

"He said that he would chastise me if I dared not to behave the way it was expected of a lady once we were married. When I told him that I would only accept punishment at the hands of a man who could beat me in a fight, he was enraged enough to try to teach me 'a woman's place'. I suppose the wine didn't help his cause," Brienne replies, her lips pursed to create a smile, but miserably so.

Because it is no joking matter.

Even if Brienne was not afraid of the fight itself, she was afraid that she might lose by some chance, that she would have been forced into wearing dresses and being mute for the rest of her life, and have an old husband who thinks he can command her - and punish her if she does not relent.

Up to that point, she had believed that Ronnet Connington's rose in the dust was the worst of all betrothals, but Ser Humfrey beats him by far, because, to Brienne, he represents all the fears and bad things she sees realized in marriage, what makes her run from it so far. Not to mention the mere thought of kissing and bedding a man who could be her father, by age.

Jaime's jaw is in a straight line, his fists clenching slightly. He knows that men have little respect for her. He knows that few marriages are happy and even fewer between people who chose each other, but it boils deep within him to hear that someone dares to threaten a young woman in that way, tries to silence her in that way, in the belief that he can because they are to be married. And he could still lash out at the mere thought that this young woman might have been his wench.

"Bastard," he grumbles.

"It's over now," she shrugs.

"Well, I am glad that the marriage didn't happen, then," Jaime exhales, calming himself.

"Why would you be happy about that?" Brienne asks, sporting a small grin, though she is honestly irritated by his comment.

"You mean beside the fact that he obviously is an arse?" he huffs.

"Beside that, yes?" she looks at him. "I mean, what if it had been someone... not that bad. Would you have been happy about that marriage being called off, too, then?"

"Yes," he replies simply.

"But why?" she frowns.

"Well, your letter reached me way too late. And I couldn't bear the thought that my oldest friend married without me there," Jaime replies.

"I am glad, too, that it didn't happen after all," she admits sheepishly. "He is about as ugly as I am. Now imagine what our children would have looked like!"

"Oh, I bet they would come out just fine," he tells her with a wink, but then adds in a hushed voice, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," she says without thinking. "It's been such a long time…"

"Indeed," he agrees.

Way too long.

"So… so this is your chamber. I don't think I have to show you around once more. You know by now what windows and doors look like around here," she grins.

"If I don't come to remember, I can still ask you, wench," Jaime agrees. He is surprised when he suddenly finds himself pulled forward, two long arms holding him for a short moment, but then pushing away.

"I'm really glad to see you back, Jaime," she whispers. He smiles at her fondly, patting her on the back.

"So am I, my wench, so am I."


	13. The Night of the Lynx

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking with me, you are sooooo kind!

In response of my wondeful reviewers:

To deliriosdeladam: Thank you so much!

To jbfangir: Thanks! I surely hope they won't kill you! Just as I hope that a few hugs will do the trick, but who knows?

Please enjoy ;)

* * *

Two days later, and the Lannister boys and Brienne are just as inseparable as they were back when she was in Casterly Rock. Though Tyrion took quite a liking to Lord Selwyn, and specifically to drinking with him, which is why he often uses his time apart from negotiations to enjoy Tarth's finest drops, leaving Brienne and Jaime to themselves.

Brienne doesn't dare to say aloud just how glad she is to have them both back in her life, if only for a short while. She felt more than lonely, if not left alone, ever since she returned to her home. She no longer had someone to distract her from her ugliness or the looks and whispers. In fact, it made her ever the more conscious upon her return from Casterly Rock, since she hadn't been so exposed to them for as long as she kept around Tyrion and Jaime. Once back to Tarth, however, the murmurs had grown to screaming voices inside her head, leaving her with books, fight, and letters as her only means of escape from the mocking voices echoing through her home.

However, she knows it is not for long, just as she knows that chances are good that this is the last time she will see Jaime in a long, long time, if not forever. He will join the Kingsguard, which means that he will stay in King's Landing.

And unless Brienne is married off to some nobleman around that area, she doesn't see much of a way for her to see her best friend in the near future, the same being true for Tyrion.

However, she doesn't want this to wear her down. Brienne wants to do what Jaime always told her, to live in the moment, not the past and the future.

She sighs into her bedsheets as she rolls on her bed. The day had been wonderful. The three took a horse ride and Brienne showed Tyrion and Jaime all the good and hidden vantage points of Tarth. While she hates the constraints of the island's politics and its people, she loves her homeland from the bottom of her heart. She knows every stone, every twig, every wave crushing against Tarth's rocks and cliffs. She knows where the sun sets on a cliff in such a way to draw pictures on the cold stone. She knows where the trees sing lullabies. She knows where to find the sweetest berries of the entire island. She knows where there is sand so white that it blinds one's eyes. Where water shines like crystals. This is her island. Her home.

Suddenly, Brienne hears noises from outside. She frowns. Probably the cook and his newest love interest. She caught the two in quite a _heated_ moment in the sacks of flour, which was surely no pleasure. Though she sincerely hopes that she won't hear their disgusting grunting. The man really sounds like a pig.

However, that is when she can identify the noises as stones scratching against the outer walls. Brienne swings her long legs out of her bed and shuffles over to the window to look down, only to catch sight of Jaime as he tosses pebbles at her window. She tilts her head. As another set of pebbles flies her way, she extends her hand. Effortlessly, she catches one of the stones and throws it right back at him, hitting Jaime in the head with it.

He cries out, "Ow! Damn you, wench! That's not how you do it!"

And she should really know. She gave him that stupid story to read, about the princess, locked into a tower, until a prince in rags, bereft of his title, threw pebbles against the window to rouse her by night. The princess knotted her bedsheets into a rope and climbed down – and in the safety of the night, they disappeared and lived as people without names, in a small cottage far away from the troubles of war and royalty.

But of course Brienne of Tarth just has to act like a wench when it comes to these things.

"What do you want?" she mutters angrily. Her father will kill her for this for sure.

"You to come down here," Jaime hisses from beneath her.

"No?" she replies with a grimace.

"C'mon, we have to go some place," Jaime insists.

"It's night," she reminds him.

"No, really?" he huffs. "C'mon!"

"No?" she keeps going.

"Wench, now don't leave me hanging here!" Jaime mutters. Brienne contemplates. She knows that Jaime will not give in until he gets his will eventually. So it might be best to simply get over with it.

And very often, Jaime's rash actions lead to adventures – and Brienne wants to have as many adventures as she can before her eventless life of the wife of someone begins.

"… Fine," she says at last.

"Hey!" he yells out again. She focuses her eyes on him again, "What?"

"Nice view," he snickers. She looks down, her gown open by the chest to reveal some of the skin underneath. She grasps her chest in a hurry as Jaime laughs to himself. She quickly gathers some of the pebbles that flew into her room and tosses them down on him. Jaime ducks for cover, rolling on the grass.

Brienne boils as she puts on her clothes and sneaks outside. Once she reaches him, she punches him in the arm hard enough to make him tumble to the ground with a small cry.

"Take it like a man," she grunts as Jaime rolls on the grass. "So now, what are we up to?"

"Follow me, you'll see it soon enough," Jaime says as he gets back up. He means to pull her forward, but Brienne thrusts both heels firmly into the ground, "I am not going anywhere without you telling me what this is about."

Jaime shows his pouch, filled with fruit, "We'll go to the ocean and have a midnight picnic. Tyrion said that there would be falling stars tonight."

"So what?" she frowns.

"I've never seen one yet," Jaime tells her.

"Wow. I have seen over a hundred for sure," she snorts.

"I hope you made a wish each time," Jaime grins.

"As if that would work," she huffs.

"We pray to Gods, too. Why not wish upon a star?" he argues.

"Because I find it ridiculous to wish upon a falling star," she shrugs.

"And why?" he frowns.

"Why would I wish upon a star that lost the fight and now falls from the sky?" she shakes her head. "I don't wish upon a dying star. What is dead is dead and won't come back."

"My, my, the wench is morbid," Jaime snorts. "In any case, I do _not_ think that it's a lost cause to wish upon a falling star. And since I am your guest, you are obliged to tend to me. So now, let's go to the ocean. I heard you have the best view there."

"You have heard? _I_ told you that, Goldie Curl!" she argues vehemently.

"Hush now, or else you will wake up your father," Jaime snickers. That is when suddenly a light flickers in the castle. The two glance at each other with wide eyes before picking up speed and rushing away from the castle.

Out of breath after the race Brienne won in the end, if only by a nose length according to Jaime, the two fall into the sand spread-eagle.

"The nights are much clearer here in Tarth than in Casterly Rock," Jaime says, once his breath is a little calmer again. "I've never seen the night sky that bright."

In fact, the stars seem to be much closer, as though extending his hand was enough to capture one.

"That's because we are on an island," Brienne replies. "And Casterly Rock is crowded with highborns."

"So?" he frowns, wrinkling his nose.

"Didn't you know? Highborns produce so much hot air that it clouds the sky?" she replies. Jaime bursts out laughing at this.

He really missed her.

"Brienne?" he asks after a while, now with a piece of apple still in his mouth.

"What?" she asks, tossing the orange he gave to her from one hand to the other.

"Do you think your father will arrange for a new betrothal soon?" he asks.

"I hope not, but I can't tell for sure. I just know that there won't be many men who will dare approach me now. Who wants a bone-breaker for a wife, huh?" she exhales.

"But what about you becoming a knight?" he grimaces.

"I don't know. I obviously couldn't ever possibly enter the Kingsguard, if they even accepted women in the first place, but I owe it to my father as his last heir to have children one day," Brienne replies, puckering her lips.

"At some point I always ask myself why keeping up a family lineage is even that important. I mean, alright, I understand that this is about politics and money. It always is, but what's behind that obession with names?" Jaime grimaces.

"For many it's the only way to leave something behind, I reckon," she says. "It's like in _The Travelling Knight_. We want to live on in the story, and that only works if we have someone to retell our stories - and write new ones. Names are a good way to pass a story on. They are easy to remember."

"So we don't come around it," the young man exhales.

"No, we don't come around it," she agrees. "For me, the best that can happen is that my next betrothed... is not a complete arse... and no fossil... or both."

"You know... I could marry you off," he says after a while, his tune light, as though he was whistling some melody. Brienne's eyes widen, her mouth forming a grimace, "You can't, because you are a man of the Kingsguard soon, Goldie Curl. In fact, you can't marry anyone. That's the whole point."

"But I could leave the Kingsguard, you know? Become Lord of Casterly Rock, much to Father's delight – and then marry you off," Jaime goes on in his playful voice.

His father would surely like that - and maybe he would look at him in a different way, too.

And Brienne would be safe.

Just as he wouldn't be forced to marry what was her name again? Lysa Tully, right.

"You'd never beat me to deserve my hand," Brienne snorts.

"I beat you before, wench," Jaime retorts.

"But be sure I would beat you in that particular battle," the girl huffs.

"But in any case, I'm not like your last betrothed. I surely won't let you break my bones. I am one of the few people who are a match to you. Think about it. Furthermore, I'm charming," Jaime shrugs, amused.

"Annoying," she corrects him.

"Good-looking," he goes on.

"Girlish," Brienne grins.

"I come from a prestigious house," Jaime hums.

"You are a Lannister," the girl huffs.

"My family is wealthy," Jaime chuckles.

"A rich boy," she corrects him.

"Young," he adds.

"Childish," she corrects him.

"I am funny," Jaime smiles.

"An oaf," she snorts.

"Passionate," the Lannister boy says, puckering his lips.

"Hotspur," Brienne rolls her eyes.

"I wouldn't ever tell you to act like a woman or wear a dress. Well, maybe I would ask you for the wedding, but other than that, nah, you could wear whatever you wanted," Jaime goes on. This time, it takes Brienne a moment to gather herself, "… You wouldn't?"

"Why would I?" he frowns, turning his head to her.

"Well, that's what's expected of a wife. So why wouldn't you demand it from me?" she grimaces, biting her lower lip. Ser Humfrey surely did.

"Because you look grotesque in them. And anyways, I wouldn't recognize my own wife, then. Now what a scandal would that be?" Jaime replies nonchalantly. Brienne snorts.

"I mean, hypothetically speaking, it would be quite advantageous. You could wear whatever you liked and you wouldn't have to put up with those idiot anymore," Jaime goes on, not realizing that Brienne's entire body starts tensing up.

"I'd have to put up with you," she huffs.

"Then _some_ _stranger_ idiot who might well be worse than me, you little wench. Thinking about it, it would actually be the perfect match," Jaime goes on.

"Why?" she asks, her voice suddenly very weak.

"You wouldn't have to fear that someone would treat you disgracefully. You would have your freedoms, and you would rule Castlery Rock with me, which is obviously an advantage… We wouldn't have to worry about it that I am married off to some wench either, as my Father tried, but tried at best. We could even sword fight all we wanted, no one would ever know. We'd conveniently close the gates, and live on the way we always did, behind the walls of Casterly Rock," Jaime goes on with his musing, eyes fixed on the stars above him.

"The way we always did?" she frowns, her voice growing smaller and smaller each time.

"Well, as best friends. Of course that would mean I wouldn't be part of the Kingsguard anymore, but I could still fight in war, I'm sure," Jaime shrugs, twisting his little maybe-story further and further.

"Aha," she mutters.

"And I could keep Cersei close. Maybe Father would grant her to come to Casterly Rock more often, or maybe even permanently, if I gave up on the Kingsguard and had a wife… And if you wanted to have some other man to be with you, you could do that, too, no bother. No one would have to know," Jaime goes on, but then lets out a small cry as he gets a jab in the side.

"Ow! What was that for, wench?!" he growls, turning to face her. And that is when he sees the tears in her sapphire eyes.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" he asks, rubbing his aching side. He was only thinking out loud some stupid cobweb no spider would ever weave.

Brienne just keeps staring at him, her mouth wide open. However, that is when her body starts to move again, and starts to revolt, "You bloody idiot! I don't need Jamie Lannister to marry me out of pity!"

"I never meant to..," Jaime looks at her, only now becoming conscious that she took it very seriously after all.

"Or so that you can conveniently arrange your life so you may have Cersei as you please," she growls.

"That's not how I meant it, Brienne, please," Jaime begs, at a loss.

"No! That's _exactly_ how you meant it. You think I'm too ugly and too much of a wench that anyone could ever really love me, and marry me for just that reason! You think that the only way for me to be married off is some feigned marriage to _you_! You think that I would sit by and watch as you and Cersei do what you do behind closed doors! You think I would ever break an oath I made, you giant arse!" Brienne yells, eyes closed as red fury and embarrassment and remorse wash over her, making her dizzy.

"What?" he gapes.

"Marriage is a vow, an oath, you bloody fool. And you'd seemingly not mind if we both broke it," Brienne hisses. "In fact, you even think that I would do it! Though you know that I'd never break an oath!"

"You don't even _want_ to marry!" Jaime argues lamely.

"And as my last betrothal proved, I don't come around it no matter how much I don't _want_ it! But if that is what it is, then I don't want to marry someone who laughs at me! I don't want to marry someone who doesn't respect me!" she retorts, struggling for breath as the words just keep coming out.

She never thought that Jaime of all people would get her to that point.

She thought that he was the one person who understood her.

But she was seemingly mistaken.

And she was seemingly right about that one thing: Friendships break far easier than one can imagine. One rupture is enough.

"You want to be a knight," Jaime insists, but before he can say one more word, Brienne goes on with her cursing, "And we both know that I'll never be, because I am a woman and because my Father has to marry me off! So yes, I would rather marry someone who doesn't throw roses to my feet or who makes bets about who'd take my maidenhead first! And I thought that you, as my best friend, would understand that!"

"Brienne, I was just…," he mutters, struggling for the proper words to calm her, the pain in her eyes feeling like stabs in his own chest.

"You were just _what_? Making fun of me?" she cries out bitterly.

"What?! No, I wasn't, please Brienne!" Jaime argues, holding up his hands.

"But you didn't mean it, and that's the thing. Because you think that there is no way in the Seven Hells that someone who truly loves me even exists – and will marry me. That there is not a single person out there to love me in that way. The next time you want to insult me, you better throw a rose instead, that's less hurtful than this here!" Brienne yells atop of her voice, the images of Ronnet Connington tossing a rose to her feet swimming back into her mind.

How humiliated she had felt.

Desperate.

Alone.

Ugly.

But this is still worse, so much worse!

"Brienne, I didn't mean to insult you – and it's not like that, it's not, please," Jaime tries again and again, but to no avail. Brienne jumps to her feet, tears falling into the sand, "I don't want to be your friend anymore, Jaime Lannister!"

She runs off into the woods, her moves as fast as those of a gazelle.

"Brienne!" Jaime hurries to his feet, spurting after her.

What did he do?

As he makes his way through the woods, he is glad that Brienne showed him around before, or else he would be completely lost, though of course the lack of light does not help his sense of direction. He roughly knows the direction he is running, but Brienne grew up here. That means she could hide anywhere.

However, fortune seems to return to his favour as a beam of light comes from above, illuminating the area – and he can spot a mob of blonde hair, sitting on a large tree.

"Brienne!" he yells out, relief washing over him that he found her after all.

"Go away!" she curses.

Brienne doesn't want to see him ever again. Shall he take the next ship back to Casterly Rock or to King's Landing, she doesn't care.

"Brienne, please! I didn't mean it like that. So come down so we can go back to the castle," Jaime begs her.

" _You_ can go back, I don't care. I will stay here," she retorts, her voice boiling like molten rock.

"Wench… I mean… _Brienne_ , please. I am sorry that I insulted you. I shouldn't have said it like that, or rather at all. But it wasn't my purpose to say that no one would ever want to marry you out of love," Jaime says.

"That was the implication, however," she points out to him.

"I know, alright? But it only dawned on me once you said it. I didn't mean it like that, though. So come down, I beg you," Jaime bargains.

"No," is the reply, of course.

"Stubborn wench…," he growls to himself. "Do I really have to come up to you?"

"If you dare climb that tree, I will jump," she warns him. Jaime looks up to where she is, and then to the ground, "You will die if you jump, it's too damn high! You will break your neck, wench!"

"Right, so you better stay away from me," Brienne retorts.

"What can I say so that you forgive me? What do I have to do? Huh?" he asks with a sigh.

"Go away?" she huffs.

"Other than going away?" Jaime rolls his eyes.

"Go back to Casterly Rock and never come back?" she goes on.

"Brienne!" Jaime cries out. That is not getting them anywhere, is it?

"I told you, I don't want to be friends with you anymore," Brienne argues.

Why does he even sound shocked?

And why did he come after her in the first place? She expected him to head back to the castle and leave her to herself.

"And I have no say in that?" Jaime barks.

"No?" she keeps going.

"That is unfair!" the Lannister boy grunts.

"The world's unfair," she huffs.

Maybe it finally dawns on him, too.

"But you said it, you don't break oaths. What about the oath of our friendship?" Jaime then says, his eyes fixed on her.

"Now _that_ 's unfair!" Brienne curses.

"The world's unfair, wench, you said it!" he grins, finally gaining the feeling that he is getting through to her. "Brienne, I am honestly sorry. Please, just come down. You even get to punch me once."

"I can punch you whenever I want," she corrects him.

"I wouldn't fight back?" he bargains.

"Where would be the fun in that?" Brienne frowns, not understanding that some people would welcome a free punch to get their revenge.

"I am running out of ideas, wench. You will have to tell me what you want, other than me leaving in whatever the way, or else we will have to spend the night here. And I may add that I can scream all night long if I have to. Or worse, I may start to sing," he warns her.

"Gods no!" she cries out.

"So will you come down that tree so that I can properly apologize? I don't want that to stand between us, Brienne. I know it was foolish, but I told you before, boys are stupid way too often," Jaime sighs.

"You mean all the time?" she snorts.

"We do have our moments, once upon a time," Jaime shrugs.

Though this is surely none of his.

"… Fine," comes the small reply.

"But be careful, mind you? If you fall, be sure I won't catch you, you're too heavy for that," Jaime hollers.

"And you're too frail," she retorts promptly, making Jaime more confident that she will forgive him after all.

"Exactly," he grins. He already means to say something else, when suddenly Brienne shrieks, "Jaime! Get away from there!"

"What?" he looks up the tree.

"A lynx, right behind you," she yells. Jaime turns his head slightly to see the eyes gleaming at him from the darkness. He knows that usually those animals don't attack, but it seems to be either sick or injured.

"Told you," he grunts. "Told you it's dangerous."

"Get on that tree!" Brienne urges him, fear clutching at her chest. Jaime rushes ahead, hoping that he will make it up the trunk in time, but the lynx starts to run the moment he sets forth.

"Oh, Seven Hells, the first Lannister to be eaten by a lynx!" Jaime cries out.

He already prepares for the beast to sink its claws and teeth into his back, but that is when a shadows whooshes out of the canopy. There is a loud thud, a shriek, then growls. Jaime turns around to see Brienne on tops of the lynx, seemingly trying to choke that thing to death. Before Brienne jumped, she took off her jacket to wrap around the animals head to keep it from biting now. She bares her teeth at the wild animal, resembling a carnivore herself. The Lannister boy grabs for his knife and leaps forward to sink it into the animal's throat. It gurgles a while longer, struggling against Brienne's iron grip, but then it goes limp in her long arms. Jaime still kneels next to her, dagger in hand, breathing hard.

Did that really just happen?

"Wench, are you out of your mind?! Jumping from that height to sure death – and then right on a lynx to rip you to pieces?!" he cries out, eyes wide.

"He would have ripped _you_ to pieces had I not jumped. And anyways, the lynx cushioned the fall," Brienne argues, though she knows that the last part comes out rather weak. Jaime looks her over, "Did that thing bite or scratch you? And don't you dare say 'no' if it did. It looked sick."

"It didn't," she replies truthfully.

"We should just get back, before more predators decide to visit, c'mon," Jaime grimaces, pulling Brienne up by her arm.

She almost died, because he brought her up that tree.

Really, that wench is unpredictable.

And damn stupid.

And goddamn brave.

Jaime stomps through the soil and shrubbery, angry with everything that happened to lead to this disaster, but he suddenly stops in the motion, Brienne almost running into him. He turns around.

"Don't just stop, you idiot," Brienne grumbles.

"You injured your foot," he states.

"I did not, now go," she says, pushing him forward, but Jaime stands his ground, "You walk differently, and behind me."

"Walk on, Goldie Curl," Brienne huffs.

"See? That's what I mean, you always get yourself into trouble," Jaime shakes his head.

"No one's asked you to come after me. Then I wouldn't have had to jump the lynx. And in any case, you don't have to worry, it's not that bad, really. If at all, it's strained. I should know, I have that often enough," Brienne argues. She means to walk ahead, but Jaime has a hand on her shoulder to prevent her from it, "No, no, no, you are not going anywhere just yet."

"We have to go back," she argues vehemently.

"And we will," Jaime says, showing his back to her.

"No," she shakes her head, knowing what he means to implicate.

"It's that, or I will do us both the shame that may cost us our friendship and sweep you off your feet the way the groom does for the bride, and I would rather not risk our friendship a second time this night," Jaime tells her.

"No," Brienne insists.

"Wench! This is not about being weak, this is about returning a favour. You saved my life, so let me get you to the castle without causing further damage to you," Jaime curses, leaving Brienne speechless and blinking at him.

Maybe she was wrong after all. Maybe there is one friendship that doesn't break as easily as she feared.

He is worried for her. He cares.

Brienne breathes through her nostrils, but then wraps her arms around his neck, allowing him to pull up her legs to carry her on his back.

"You are lighter than I thought," Jaime notes after a while.

"Say the same once we are out of the woods, if you make it there without fainting like a girl. You are too frail," Brienne rolls her eyes. "Though if you do, I will surely leave you there in the mud. And I won't regret it."

"Gods, jumping from that height onto a lynx. Who does that?" Jaime can't help but go on muttering. He can't get it out of his head. He saw her jumping before, back when they first met, but from a tree onto a lynx is something entirely different from jumping out of a window into a heap of hay.

"I did," Brienne shrugs, seemingly thinking the same as he, since she adds. "It was a bit like back when we first met."

"Not even close. And normally, you would have missed him," Jaime warns her.

"I jumped before he came to the spot to land on him," Brienne argues.

"And in the dark, your predictions may have failed you quite easily, don't you think? Or what if the beast had strode to the right for some unpredictable reason?" Jaime grumbles.

"I admit that this was not well planned-out in advance. It's not like the lynx let us know beforehand that he would be here," Brienne rolls her eyes.

"Couldn't you do what people usually do?" the Lannister son grunts angrily.

"Scream and cry for their mommies? _Please_ ," Brienne huffs.

"No, stay the hell where they are. And if they are that desperate to take a part in it, throw pebbles or something, to distract the thing," Jaime rants.

"What _pebbles_? I was up in a tree. Rocks don't grow on trees, stupid," Brienne retorts.

"I could have taken on the lynx, too," Jaime mutters.

"Right, which is why you ran away from it," Brienne grins.

"After you told me to!" Jaime cries out.

"You listen to a girl all of a sudden?" she huffs. Jaime stops in his tracks.

"Wench, when will you finally understand?! You were almost killed tonight, alright? Two times in a row. You could have died falling down that tree. You could have been killed by the lynx. Two times you almost died on me today. So _excuse_ me if I am slightly aggravated and shocked about the matter," Jaime growls. Brienne blinks, but doesn't let on that she feels the words of care radiating in her entire body. For that it still stings too much. Instead she goes on teasing him, "Well, then at least you wouldn't have to bother about feigned marriages anymore."

"That had to come now. Really, I should just drop you off on some stone and leave you to your bitching, wench," Jaime pouts as he goes on walking.

"Do it, I dare you," Brienne narrows her eyes.

Really, that woman has to make everything a challenge!

"You better don't, I might follow through with it if you push me only a little further," Jaime warns her.

"I dare you again, Goldie Curl. Do it! I am sure I will reach the castle before you, even if my foot had been eaten by the lynx," Brienne challenges him once more.

"Gods! Why did I ever follow you into the woods?!" Jaime cries out.

"The hell would I know what devil must have been in you to do such a foolish thing," Brienne snorts.

"Are you... Are you seriously smiling right now?" Jaime asks over his shoulder.

"Of course not," she giggles.

"You are mocking me!" he cries out.

"Of course not," Brienne smiles, resting her chin on his shoulder.

They continue in silence for a while.

"Brienne?" he asks after a while, his voice quiet and calm now.

"Hm?" she hums.

"I'm really sorry," Jaime says in all earnest. He never meant to hurt her.

And by the Seven, he hereby makes a vowel that he will do anything within his powers to keep the hurt expression out of her sapphire eyes.

He can't bear it.

"I'm, too, for running off," she admits. Brienne knows it was foolish and dangerous.

"Did you mean it, though?" Jaime asks.

"What?" she frowns.

"That you don't want to be friends anymore?" Jaime asks quietly.

"What if I did?" she asks hesitantly.

"That'd make me very sad," he admits.

"Oh?" she blinks.

"Okay, that was incorrect," Jaime tilts his head.

"Oh…," she mutters silently.

So it wouldn't make him sad, huh.

"It would _shatter_ me. You are my best friend, Brienne. I don't want some stupid comment like that to stand between us, you hear me? The Seven Hells, I rushed here to Tarth because I was afraid that you had been married off to that bastard without my knowledge. You mean a lot ot me, too much to allow a stupid comment of mine to destroy it all," Jaime says, his voice grave. Brienne says nothing.

"And just so that you know: You are the best knight I have ever met, other than myself, of course. Anyone who gets to marry you can call himself damn lucky, wench," Jaime tells her. Brienne is glad that he can't see her, or the pink glow to her cheeks.

"Thanks. The girl who'd get to marry you could count herself lucky, too, that is unless you join the Kingsguard, of course," Brienne says in a soft voice.

"Well, maybe we both aren't made for marital life, you know? Maybe we both are just born knights," Jaime suggests.

"Maybe…," she sighs, her voice trailing off, but then she speaks up again, "Jaime?"

"Yes, wench?" he replies.

"You are my best friend, too," she whispers.

Jaime silently smiles to himself as he goes on with the way back to the castle.

He knows they will get the Seven Hells for not being back before night, but he couldn't care less.

Brienne is back with him, and now that she is on his back, he can be sure that she won't run away from him again.

A falling star passes over their heads.

Nothing shall ever threaten that friendship again.


	14. Transgression

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around!

To jbfangirl: No famous last words, sorry. That story will go on and on and on for a _long_ while ;P I'm a slow-boiling romance author.

I hope you'll enjoy ;)

* * *

Much to Jaime's relief, Brienne was neither greatly injured, nor did she tell him to leave Tarth the following day. While it was a bit tensed right after the Night of the Lynx, Brienne seemingly forgave him deep in her heart, though of course he has to put up with some jabs and comments coming his way. However, Jaime understands that this is only fair. He really hurt her, so it's Brienne's good right to seek a little revenge.

Yet, this didn't save him from a lecture by his younger brother when the younger Lannister forced Jaime to sit with him and explain it to him. Tyrion obviously didn't buy the story that Brienne and he had heard a bunch of burglars roaming around the castle, had followed the men, only to get lost in the woods, and Brienne falling over some root, resulting in her injury. Jaime rarely saw Tyrion that angry with him. As curious as it is to be lectured by your younger sibling, he understood that Tyrion is simply fond of Brienne and can't stand the thought of having her sad or hurt.

When Jaime confessed to him the real circumstances of the night, he knew he had the slap in the back of the head coming – and he deserved it, too. Tyrion, enraged, pointed out to him that if he were Brienne, he would have cast him out of Tarth forever. At some point Jaime still asks himself what got into him to take his mind to that cobweb he started to weave that night.

However, Brienne gladly seems to be more forgiving than Tyrion, which is why she soon admitted Jaime back into her life and her heart, which is why the two are now sitting on the bed in her room, their upper bodies lying flat on the mattress, while their legs dangle over the foot of the bed. After they spent a good hour reading, both were rather tired. Night already drew close, and the room shines in the vibrant shades of orange of the candlelight.

It is their last evening here on Tarth. Tyrion and Selwyn reached an agreement about the trading routes, and Father expects them back as soon as possible. In the letter he let them know that Jaime is supposed to come to King's Landing, which is a sure hint that he will soon be able to don the white.

And even though neither one said it out loud, there seems to be an unspoken agreement that this will likely be the last night that they will be two youths roaming around each other's rooms as though it was nothing. The next time they will see each other, if they see each other again, they will likely not be children anymore. In a strange sense, Jaime's stay on Tarth made him realize his shift to adulthood more prominently than did any fight he undertook to become a knight before.

"Fine, I got one!" Jaime says.

"Go ahead," Brienne replies.

"Whats black when you get it, red when you use it, and white when you throw it away?" Jaime questions. At some point they just started to ask each other riddle questions.

"... Charcoal?" Brienne says. Jaime leans his head back, "Darn, I thought I'd get you with this one."

"My life can be measured in hours. I serve by being devoured. Thin I am quick. Fat I am slow. Wind is my foe. What am I?" Brienne says.

"A candle, that one's really old," Jaime rolls his eyes. "This is tiring."

"Alright, one last one?" Brienne suggests.

"Spill already," Jaime exhales.

"Say my name and I disappear," she puckers her lips. Jaime frowns, contemplating.

"I don't know, a spy if you spot him?" Jaime suggests.

"No," she shakes her head.

"Me when they catch me misbehaving?" Jaime chuckles softly.

"Not quite," Brienne chuckles."Last guess."

"That old dog who lives in the town? Whenever I yell his name, he hobbles away," the Lannister boy puckers his lips.

"No, and that is because you call him Bello. His name is Cricket," Brienne replies.

"Fine, I give up, you win. What disappears if I say its name?" Jaime exhales.

"Silence," she shrugs.

"Ahhhh... the dog's name is Cricket, _really_?!" Jaime huffs. Brienne nudges him in the side playfully.

"What do we do next?" she asks.

"Hm, I got a question for you," Jaime hums. "A real one."

"If it has to be," she snorts.

"Who was your first?" he asks after a while, leaning on his elbows.

"My first _what_? First teacher, first septa, first…," Brienne runs down the list as she leans on her elbows as well.

"The first man you let close," Jaime explains.

"I'm a maiden. You know that, Blondie Curl," she says, giving him a nudge in the side.

"Of course, but who was your first? Your first kiss? Hm? C'mon, you can tell me," Jaime winks, his voice teasing. He knows it's a bit risky after the Night of the Lynx, but... he just has to ask, for _some_ reason.

"Who was yours?" she returns, but then stops herself. "No, don't answer that, I already know."

"It wasn't Cersei," Jaime corrects her.

"No?" she frowns.

"Her name was Milny. Long hair, brown eyes, missed a tooth right in the front. She sold fruit right in front of our castle… though fruit wasn't the only thing she had to offer. Four pennies for a kiss," Jaime chuckles.

"A _groat_ for a kiss? Was it worth the money at least?" Brienne grins.

"Not really. She tried her best, I'm sure, but… nah, not really worth the groat, no," Jaime shakes his head. She chuckles. Jaime sits up, "So now: Who was yours? Who managed the impossible? And I mean a real kiss, on the lips, not the cheek or the forehead."

Brienne copies his movement, folding her long fingers in her lap, "Oh… his name was… Tobin."

"Tobin _who_?" Jaime questions.

"I don't know. I never asked. We knew each other only shortly - because we met on one of the voyages my Father took me along with. He was no royal, so maybe he didn't even have a last name," Brienne shrugs.

"How old?" Jaime keeps interrogating her.

"I was… six. He was seven, I think," Brienne grimaces.

"How did it happen?" the Lannister boy asks.

"We just… did. I don't know. We played together and after some time… we just… did," Brienne shrugs her broad shoulders.

"Was it good?" the lad asks.

"I couldn't complain as far as I can remember," she replies sheepishly. Jaime tilts his head from right to left, seemingly contemplating.

"Oh, so that means Brienne of Tarth did not have her first kiss yet. I am shocked," he says at last, grabbing his chest.

"What? I just told you that I did, Goldie Curl!" she argues vehemently.

"You are probably the worst liar I have ever met, wench. You would know his name, his family, his personal history. You never _played_ with boys, you pushed them into the dust. And sure as hell the performance of an seven year old boy is anything but satisfactory. You made this up," Jaime grins at her mischievously.

"What does it matter if I did?" Brienne mutters, puckering her lips. Did he really expect a boy to have kissed her already? Please, she's too ugly for that - and too set on beating the boys into the ground.

"You lied to me," Jaime replies, feigning disappointment.

"Then fine, I didn't kiss anyone yet. So what?" she asks, feeling embarrassed and annoyed.

"So what? So _what_? You are Lady, and no one kissed you properly yet! That's a _scandal_!" Jaime cries out with fake exasperation.

"I will be if… _once_ I am married," Brienne argues.

 _That_ she marries one day, Brienne knows, is set into stone. It's not a question of whether or not she will marry one day, the question is only when that will be, hopefully later than sooner, however.

"That could be quite some time until. After your third betrothal, I think some men are honestly intimidated," Jaime wrinkles his nose.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" the girl shrugs. "That's what we agreed on."

"But you must have kissed by now. You are already a woman, Brienne!" Jaime insists.

Because he is not the only one who transgressed from one state to the next. Brienne grew up as well, in fact, she was always ahead of him, which means that she is closer to adulthood than him for a longer time already.

"If I gave a single thing on social expectations, I wouldn't be the person I am," she argues.

"What if you are awful at it?" Jaime retorts.

"What if my next husband is?" she huffs, unwittingly playing into Jaime's hands with the argument.

"Exactly!" he agrees with a grin. "You can't know if he'll be a bad kisser. And then you'll best stuck to the end of your days without a single proper kiss. That's unacceptable. In any book you have given me, whenever people kiss, it's a good kiss."

"And as we had to painfully realize, we don't live in stories after all," she exhales.

Just as she is no princess who is saved my some prince.

Just as Tywin is no good Lord and father to Jaime, the way it always is in the stories.

Just as a small Lord is not treated with due respect.

Just as there are knights without true honour after all.

Just as a sister can be so much more than it should ever be.

Just as roses are not given to a lady, but thrown into the dust.

Just as old men try to teach a young girl a woman's place, with force if he has to.

No, as much as Brienne would love to believe it, still, life is no fairytale.

"Sadly not," Jaime agrees solemnly.

Because in a fairytale, he never would have made that much of a foolish mistake as he did when he searched for a falling star.

Suddenly, Jaime inches closer, but she already has her hand in his side to prevent him from coming any closer, "What do you think are you doing, Lannister?"

" _I_ could kiss you," he says, his voice small, the smile softer now, though it still holds a bit of mockery.

"For how many groats?" Brienne retorts, narrowing her eyes.

"Nah, you'd get it for free," Jaime grins.

"That price is still too damn high," she huffs.

He kisses her without a warning. Brienne stares at him, growing red over both cheeks. She pushes him away, "Jaime!"

She pushes hard enough so that Jaime's upper body falls to the other side of the bed. He straightens back up, rubbing his side, "Ow, that was rough!"

"How dare you?" she cries out, screwing her eyes shut.

"I may add that you are not the worst kisser. In fact, you are surprisingly good at it. Maybe I owe you a groat now," Jaime chuckles.

"Blondie Curl!" Brienne shrieks.

"Fine, fine, seriously now. Hear me out," Jaime holds up his hands in surrender.

"Speak," she growls, her eyes narrow slits.

"Now you can always keep in mind that you got your first kiss from someone you like, or well, don't always hate. We both know that this is not always the case when a man marries a woman. They are hardly friends. If they even know each other," Jaime tells her, now a little more truthfully. "Ser Humfrey is only one proof for my argument, you know that."

She glares at him, but then her features drop somewhat.

"You were… my first," she repeats, tilting her head, the information seeping into her brain slowly but surely. She is so lost in thought that she doesn't realize it that he turns her shoulder to him to bring their lips together another time.

"And your second," he grins, pressing another kiss on her lips. "And your third."

She shoves him away again, "What was that for?"

Jaime chuckles softly, but drifts closer to her once more.

"For all the men who already could have stolen a kiss from your lips, but were so foolish not to," he whispers, nudging his nose against her cheek with eyes closed.

Both get lost in that fleeting moment of in-betweenness which will be over soon enough, will fly away like a bird.

Brienne just looks at him as he presses another kiss to her lips, longer this time.

"And for the one who was too foolish to do it when he offered a marriage and did not mean it… during the Night of the Lynx."

* * *

Jaime and Tyrion depart from Tarth the following morning. Lord Selwyn embraces them both the way a father would, wishing them both the very best - and tells Jaime specifically to stay safe, now as a man of the Kingsguard.

The goodbye with Brienne is filled with the usual empty phrases all are obliged to utter - and some bickering, of course.

The daughter of Tarth hugs Tyrion fiercely, urging him to write her once he returns, to which he only agrees.

Brienne and Jaime embrace each other only briefly, because they already said their goodbyes in private before, and sealed them with a secret kiss.

Both know that all of it will stay in that chamber.

Both know that it might be the last time that they see each other.

And surprisingly enough, it doesn't sting as badly as either one feared it would. In fact, they are calm, composed, ready.

Because they are sure of that one thing: That their friendship will survive no matter the circumstance. This small journey to and on Tarth showed it again.

"You will write to me."

"Always."

"Goodbye, Jaime."

"Goodbye, Brienne."


	15. Swords and Knights

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around!

Mini-spoiler (don't like, don't read, or read later): I changed Renly's age here, since I wanted to have Brienne serving under him, though he was definitely too young by the time the Mad King was killed (I think he was six by the time, if I remember correctly). Hence, I simply have him as a "Lord" for now. As a first(?) cousin to the King, I thought it'd be alright to use his character in that way. Plus, I really loved him in the original material because he treated Brienne the way she deserves! So please bear with it. It's AU, I warned you! Furthermore, I have the King hereafter mostly in the background - and set in such a way that it's before he goes insane and does the awful things he did.

To my wonderful reviewers, the delight for each time I post a chapter ;)

To jbfangirl: He does! I'm still totally cheery that people share my enthusiasm for the story. Thanks for the suggestion about the Renly-Jaime interaction. Maybe I can include that in some way. I will have to see. If not, maybe I'll write a fanfic solely about Jaime jealously bragging about Renly or so. That'd surely be a lot of fun. Male bitch-fighting is awesome.

To my pal from Argentina: Gracias! Yeah, I guess there are quite a few of the male universe who have the Jon Snow vibe. They know nothing.

In any case, I hope you'll enjoy ;)

* * *

It's odd how fortune plays at times, or rather its evil twin. Jaime thought that by entering the Kingsguard he would finally be around Cersei, that they would be free to be them, but now he finds himself strolling through King's Landing while she is back in Casterly Rock. Their Father seemingly enjoys their pain way too much.

"Ser Jaime? A message for you," a servant says nervously, as Jaime looks up, lost in thought of his sister. He takes the parchment from the boy, offering a small smile, "Thank you. You may be dismissed."

The boy nods and disappears. Jaime rips the seal open, noting with a grin the familiarity of it. He can't even say how many wax seals bearing that banner he already tore open with a smile on his face. Those letters have been his lifesaver these days more often than he'd like to admit.

* * *

 _Dear Jaime,_

 _I want to inform you that I will be in King's Landing the following moon, for the tournament._

 _I hope you are well._

 _Maybe we will see each other there by any chance._

 _Brienne_

* * *

Jaime chuckles to himself. Perhaps fortune is on his side after all. He never thought to see Brienne of Tarth in King's Landing any time soon, but as fortune has it, they are destined to meet again.

* * *

A few days later, Jaime is called forth as a member of the Kingsguard, to welcome Renly Baratheon as one of the royal guests for the upcoming tourney. It is one of the biggest knightly events in all of Westeros, people coming from near and far to see the knights fighting for honour and fame… and of course to distract the common people from hunger and poverty. Nevertheless, those are the days that bring life to King's Landing.

Jaime looks on as Renly and his colourful entourage arrive, his senses set on any disturbance or possible source of danger. However, his senses are suddenly focused on one sole target, a set of sapphires in an armour, roaming at the end of the entourage.

Brienne?

Jaime can't help but stare at his childhood friend. However, he also notes the blank expression she sports whenever someone dares to look at her, the same kind of face she used on those who mocked her – and Cersei foremost. Her moves are rather rigid, but maybe that is also due to the armour.

The royal guest as well as his men soon disappear inside Red Keep, leaving one knight in white, the other in bronze standing on the staircase.

"Brienne?!" he gapes, still not quite believing it.

"I wrote to you that I would be here for the tournament, so don't look so surprised," she huffs, sporting a self-conscious grin all of a sudden, bringing the spark back into her eyes, and the softness back to her features.

"I thought you would be one of the spectators," he still gapes.

"Where would be the fun in that?" Brienne chuckles. It's odd, really, that in all those years she only found few people to show this side of hers to – and that it is a spoiled Lannister son of all people. However, whenever she catches sight of him, she finds herself at a strange kind of ease that allows her to jest and be the boyish girl she used to be.

Jaime takes in her presence another time, studying her from head to toe. Frankly speaking, Jaime rarely saw Brienne shine the way she does at this second. You can see the pride radiating from her entire body, pooling in her sapphire eyes that he is convinced that people, not used to their shine, would have to avert their gazes. In fact, she never looked better in his opinion, as though the armour completes a puzzle missing a piece in years.

"I never expected you to wear an armour in public one day," Jaime can't help but say.

"Trust me, till last I couldn't believe it. My Father allowed me to go with Lord Renly. He had visited Tarth and said that he would take me under his wing," Brienne tells him, smiling at the memory – because Renly, aside from Jaime, is the one man to give her self-confidence, a chance to hush the mocking whispers.

"He took you _under his wing_? That sounds odd when it is about Renly," Jaime snorts. "Except for the circumstance that it is the wing of some exotic, gaily coloured bird, of course."

He heard the whispers, he heard the gossip, and anyone who doesn't catch the colourfulness of this man is either blind or simply ignorant.

"Don't you dare insult him, Jaime!" she warns him, her eyes narrow slits.

"Fine, fine, no need to be upset, wench," Jaime holds up his hands. It shouldn't come to him as a surprise that Brienne is protective of her new Lord. Renly, despite his young age and let's say unconventional taste, gave Brienne the chance of her life, gave her a chance to fulfil her dream, the one dream she always had, Jaime knows. So it stands to reason that she would not only give her life for him in service, but her very being.

Which is to say that Lord Renly couldn't have a more trustworthy, more devoted knight than Brienne of Tarth. That much is for sure.

"Well, I am one of the swords now, no true knight, but... I can wear an armour in public now, yes," Brienne nods. Jaime tries to hide the small frown creeping up his lips. Right. People wouldn't know if a true knight stood before them for as long as it's a woman.

"Sword or knight, doesn't matter. In the end, we serve our lords and make our oaths, right?" Jaime tries to cheer her on. She flashes a smile back at him, "Of course. I'm glad for it. And I will be glad for as long as it lasts... before I have to answer my other obligations."

She knows that it is only a matter of time, but for as long as she can live her dream, or a part of it, Brienne will not complain about its end drawing close or for the title to be missing. She is a daughter of Tarth, that is the only title she needs.

"So I take it that Renly makes arrangements for you to participate in the tournament, or am I mistaken?" Jaime grins.

"Yes. I am supposed to leave my helmet on for the tournament, but other than that... he lets me get a bit of the taste of being a knight. Lord Renly said that battling new knights might help improve my skills," Brienne replies.

" _He_ said that?" Jaime snorts disbelievingly, to which she only glares at him. "Well, then your Lord Renly is smarter than I thought."

"Are you going to participate in the tournament as well, I wondered?" Brienne asks.

"I don't know. It is still not out yet who is to guard the royals," Jaime replies.

"Well, I hope that you will be appointed to the royals' safety, then," Brienne smiles.

"But why?" he grimaces.

"Well, it would be a pity if you were to lose to your female childhood friend in front of all the people you know," Brienne snickers.

"As if you would ever beat me, wench," Jaime huffs.

"Well, there is only one way to find out," Brienne grins excitedly. Jaime can see some knights waving at him to follow inside.

"I would love to continue our lovely conversation, but I fear I have duties to answer," Jaime grimaces.

"I won't keep you from them," she assures him.

"But maybe we can see each other later some time?" he suggests. "We surely have some catching up to do. And I _must_ hear the entire tale of the _Maiden Knight of Tarth_."

She chuckles at his ridiculousness. Brienne will never have songs or stories written about her or her knighthood, but the thought is still nice, she must admit.

"Well, I haven't been here for long. Especially over the last years, so I don't know where to go," she frowns.

"Why is that? Lord Selwyn always seemed to be one of the travelling royals to me?" Jaime grimaces.

"He was. It's just that he is no longer the youngest. Now he lets the ravens travel for him," she replies with a sigh.

"Is he alright?" Jaime asks, not missing the cue of sadness in her voice.

"He has been better," she shrugs, but the flashes a smile. "But let that not be of concern for now. Do you know a place to meet?"

"There is a small inn not far from here. _The Boar's Inn_. It's a place all knights and swords go to, so you can't really miss it," Jaime suggests.

"Ah, that sounds good," Brienne grins happily. Jaime nods, fully aware that much of her delight comes from the sole fact that she can now have a drink in these pubs _because_ she is a sword now.

"Then how about we meet each other there once it's dawn?" he suggests.

"I will be there," she nods.

"Good," Jaime smiles.

"I'm glad to see you again, Ser Jaime," she grins as she turns to leave.

"And I'm glad to see you again, too, _Ser_ Brienne," he winks at her. Brienne rolls her eyes before he walks inside the palace.

* * *

Jaime finds his mind leading astray as he handles his duties to the King, always having a careful eye on any intruder or possible threat to the King and his royal guests.

Brienne is a knight now, or well, sword, but to him, it's the same thing. And the wench kept it from him till last to surprise him! However, as glad as he is that she gets a taste of her sweet dream, he can't help but feel a bit disappointed. Not over the fact that she used her chance, but that they grew further apart after all. It might seem foolish to other people that he holds on to this friendship so much, but Jaime sees in Brienne the one person who has always taken him for the man he is, the person he is. And it was Brienne whose judgment he knew he could always trust.

Because he is not always so sure about his decisions anymore, at least lately.

Yet, he doesn't want this cloud his mind. He is glad to see her back, and see her back happier than ever.

Once he is done with his duties to the Iron Throne, Jaime doffs his armour and changes into a more comfortable wear before slipping out into the city, where the sun dips into the sea. He finds the inn fairly crowded, now that there are so many knights and swords roaming the city, but still can get himself a table. After all, he is one of the Kingsguard. That means he enjoys some exclusive rights. He chooses a table in the corner of the pub, knowing that Brienne is likely to be more open if she has the feeling of a bit discretion.

And so he waits for his wench to come through the portal as he sips some wine, suddenly feeling reminded of that one time he stole a bit of the drink when they were both still too young to consume it. Both almost spluttered out the red liquid in disgust as they sat in the high grass in all secret on a hot summer day, only to watch the clouds drift by as their childish minds ran circles around their heads, making them dizzy.

He is pulled out of his musing when the door opens with a loud crack – and his wench steps inside. He notes once more that her shoulders are set in a straight line, just as is her jaw. Anyone who doesn't know her softer face can certainly mistake her for a man as she closes the door and walks on like any fellow would.

Jaime waves at her to get her attention. Brienne's eyes are set on him as she walks on, and a smile creeps up his lips as he realizes once again how her features soften as she catches sight of him, but his own features drop a bit as she walks on, however well he tries not to let them.

What gets him angry is that even now a sword, the glances are there. And the whispers. Even now that she is a knight, a person of honour, is she met with mockery.

He is only glad for it that Brienne seemingly doesn't hear them, judging by the huge smile plastered on her face.

Really, some people will always be too good for this world, as is Brienne of Tarth.

She sits down in front of him so that they are face to face.

"So you found your way here at last," Jaime grins as she settles down, letting out a sigh.

"Indeed. I hoped for a bit more shine, but then again, it's an inn, so what was I expecting, huh?" Brienne snickers, looking around. Jaime chuckles softly as he fills a second cup with wine and thrusts it into her hand, "Here, here, we must drink."

"But not too much. The tournament is not far away. We must be sharp on that day," she reminds him. "I can't have it to lie in the grass and look at the clouds all day, as we did as children."

Jaime grins. They really think alike at times, and seem to bathe in the same memories, too.

"Wench, knights have to be honourable, loyal, _and_ hard-drinking," the Lannister son tells her with a smug smile tugging at his lips.

"And I am no knight...," she means to correct him, but Jaime doesn't let her, "You are a knight in _my_ eyes, so let me refer to it like that for as long as we are among ourselves. Who cares what _we_ call it?"

Brienne contemplates. Maybe he is right. For as long as no one hears, who would say that she lies?

"So, as a _knight_ , you must be hard-drinking," Jaime repeats to which Brienne huffs playfully, "I can't remember reading that in the rules."

"It's an unspoken, golden rule. So now, drink," Jaime gestures at the drink still in her palm. Brienne contemplates, but knows better than to argue with her old friend about these matters. He is too stubborn for that – and she is too thirsty, too. Brienne holds up her cup.

"Well, then I suppose cheers to Brienne of Tarth finally getting the armour she deserves," Jaime winks at her.

"And to the King," she adds, getting the cue that he wants to make this a little contest again, because that is what it always is between them – a contest.

"Of course, and to the virtues of knighthood… which were again?" Jaime puckers his lips.

"Bravery, courage, honour, loyalty, to protect Crown and Kingdom, and to always be true to one's word," Brienne scaffolds, which makes the man chuckle, "Of course you'd name them all."

"And of course hard-drinking," Brienne smirks.

"Ah yes," he agrees.

"Hm, too old friends meeting again," Brienne grimaces.

"To all wenches," Jaime grins at her mischievously.

"To all Goldie Curls," Brienne huffs.

"To us," they say at the same time, settling the contest as a truce this time.

"Cheers," he says, and she agrees, "Cheers."

Both take a swig of the wine.

"A strong brand," she grimaces as she tears the cup away from her lips.

"Well, it serves its purpose to make you drunk," Jaime shrugs.

"I see," she nods, leaning back in the chair slightly.

"So? How are you enjoying the life of a knight so far?" Jaime asks, taking another sip from his cup.

"It's not exactly how I had pictured it, but… still more than I ever dared to wish for," Brienne shrugs.

To tell the truth, she was a bit if not a lot upset about how her idealised version of a knight's life shifted into the lands of dreams. She always pictured them the way they were in her books, in shining armour, virtuous and honourable, but when starting her service under her dear Renly, she had to see that there are still the same bastards who call her names, now simply with an armour and a longsword, just as there are knights who don't have much honour to spare in her opinion, chasing after women's skirts and any chance to drink themselves to oblivion and beyond.

Just as there are those men who mock her and make bets about who takes her maidenhead first.

Some things just never change.

However, Brienne is still glad to have a chance to live the life of a sword... _knight_ for as long as it lasts – because she still holds on to the firm belief that it does not harm her ideal of what it takes to be a true knight. Those men are simply not true knights. They are knights, but not serving the codex she wishes to live by. Just because no one does live up to the ideal does not mean that it does not exist.

"My, my, if only my men had the same kind of spirit. That's the problem when it's royal knights. They don't know the hardships," Jaime chuckles.

If only _he_ still had the same kind of spirit in him, the same kind of spark in his eyes, but he had to realize very early on that politics can corrupt even such a pure thing as knighthood.

"Says a Lannister to a daughter of Tarth," Brienne rolls her eyes, missing the sadness he hides in the bottom of his cup.

"We surely overcame some hardships to get here," Jaime argues.

He had to let go of Cersei – and of many of his ideals. And Brienne had to let go of so many things that he cannot name them all.

"True," she nods. Jaime glances past her to see a few men pointing fingers at them, giggling.

"Ignore them," Brienne says, her mouth wrapped around the cup, her eyes halfway closed.

"What?" he tears his gaze back to her.

"Ignore them. That's what I do, too," she replies with a shrug of her broad shoulders.

"I never thought you'd ever just ignore. You used to beat the boys up in heaps," Jaime argues.

"And I have any intention to, but in an honourable way," Brienne replies, a small smile creeping up her lips. And that is when Jaime understands, "So you wait for the tournament, I see."

"That is the plan," Brienne says, clapping her index finger against the cup as she takes another swig of the wine.

"And I think a good one. It will serve them right to bite the dust when all of Westeros watches on," Jaime chuckles with a dark, mischievous grin.

"I must say I don't even hear it anymore," Brienne says.

"We both know you do," Jaime argues directly, looking her right in the eye. Brienne looks up to him.

She almost forgot. Jaime knows best when she is lying.

It is Brienne who breaks up the sad moment this time, "Tell me, how is Tyrion faring?"

"That you always have to focus on him. I'm your oldest friend, not he," Jaime pouts, earning himself a roll of her sapphire eyes.

"Tyrion was always the sweeter one of you two," she shrugs, but then narrows her eyes. "Stop it, I know you are not having a heart attack!"

Brienne shakes her head as Jaime grabs his chest, the way he has always done when they were still children.

"But what if I did?" he argues in a feigned strained voice.

"I would leave you in the pub to die," she shrugs nonchalantly, though she grins while she says it. Jaime chuckles and lets go of his tunic, "He's well. He will be there for the tourney, too, that is unless he is held up for some reason... or by some whore."

"Oh, I'd be glad to finally see him again. It's been a long time," Brienne smiles, ignoring the last part. She knows that Tyrion is no sweet little child anymore. Neither one of them is.

"I'd say… cheers to Tyrion?" Jaime says, refilling both their cups. Brienne rolls her eyes, taking a big swig from the wine.

And so the two start to talk, trying to find a way to make the other a part of the past memories. Jaime tells Brienne about his life in the Kingsguard, about battles he fought, tourneys he won. And Brienne tells him how Renly Baratheon proved to be a real man after all, by asking a humiliated girl for a dance, telling her that she should not listen to the mockery she had been exposed to during a feast her father had given to find her a husband. It's needless to say that Jaime almost spilled his drink in anger.

The only one who gets to mock his wench is he. When will people finally understand that?

And despite Jaime's knowledge of Renly's favourite 'prey' to which Brienne does not belong by any chance, he can't help but feel a small sting of jealousy. Because it wasn't Jaime who stood by her side that time.

And didn't ask for a dance.

However, Brienne just gives him a sympathetic smile and soon all is forgotten as she goes on about her voyage to King's Landing, and how she beat many men into the dust already.

It likely needless to mention that at some point during the night, the two started a sort of private drinking contest. And Jaime is honestly surprised that Brienne, despite her initial reluctance, proves to be a very hard-drinking wench. However, that is also why both are now staring at each other with flushes cheeks and milky gazes.

"Dear, I think you're a bit intoxicat'd," Jaime slurs, narrowing one eye at her.

"Of course I am. What do ye expect after so m'ny cups of cheap wine?" she retorts, taking another swig, emptying the cup at last, but then looks around, dazed. "Is it getting stuffed in here or is it just me?"

"No it is… Well, then maybe we should head out," he suggests, running a hand over his face.

"I s'ppose it's for the better," she agrees.

"You're havin' a slur, Milady, did ye know?" Jaime giggles.

"So do ye," she retorts.

"Good, makes us both appear less… slurry when compared to each other, hm?" he grimaces. Brienne doesn't reply, and simply gets up. Jaime follows, tossing the coins on the table before both rather stumble out into the night.

Brienne takes a moment to let the cold air brush against her heated skin. The two start to walk, slowly so. After a few steps, Brienne's head goes up. Jaime frowns at her.

"You were right, ye know?" she says after a while, her voice softer now, though there is still a slur.

"About what?" he grimaces.

"Hm? The sky," Brienne replies.

"What?!" he asks again, way too loud.

"The Night of the Lynx?" she slurs.

"Yeah?" he nods slowly, licking his lips, sobering up a bit at the memory. That was the night that almost cost him her friendship.

"You said you'd never seen a fallin' star. Can't see a single star here in King's Landin' either," Brienne nods upwards. Jaime throws his head back at an instant, almost falling over in the process, and in fact the sky is simply dark, only the moon barely visible behind the clouds.

"True… what did ye say w's the cause again?" he frowns.

"Too many highborns producin' hot air," Brienne nods drunkenly.

"Well, then I'm glad we can see the sky at all. There's so many highborns here now… we might never see the sky again," Jaime says, pulling the corners of his mouth down.

"That'd be a pity," she nods. "I love the stars… for as long as they're not fallin'. Because then they are... _dead_."

"Yeah…," he hums.

"Is she goin' to be there, too, I didn't dare ask while still sober?" Brienne blurts out. She shakes her head. She definitely should have listened to her own advice and should have drunken less. Brienne didn't mean to bring this up. It only makes her sad, she knows.

"Who she?" Jaime asks, tilting his head back to her.

"Cersei? Will she be there for the t'rney?" she asks, rolling her shoulders for a reason she can't explain, just as she can't explain why she asks about Cersei in the first place. Damn the wine!

"… Yes," he replies uncertainly. Why would the wench ask about Cersei of all people?

"Oh," is the only reply he gets.

"Still scared of her?" Jaime puckers his lips.

"I've never been scared of her," Brienne rolls her eyes.

No, she was never _scared_ of Cersei. Intimidated by her? Yes. Degraded by her? Yes. Forced to feel as though she was less worth? More often than she would ever admit to herself, but not scared, no.

"Ah, right, b'cause Brienne of Tarth fears no one 'nd nothin'," Jaime exclaims in a dramatic voice.

"She fears more than you'd ever know," Brienne mutters.

"Huh?" he looks at her.

"Everyone has fears," she says louder this time.

"Even we knights?" he grimaces.

"We knights especially," she nods frantically. "Whatever's or whoever's absence we fear is who we protect with all we have."

"Hm," he nods, contemplating on her statement. For a drunk wench, she still manages to bring out some wise words, no matter the slur.

"Well, you fear for Cersei's life, if she were in danger, no?" Brienne goes on.

"Of course," he agrees instantly.

"And that's why ye'd protect her. That's what knights do. They protect. So naturally... knights have fears, or else they wouldn't have anythin' they'd want to protect," she says, gesticulating with her hands.

"Your logic's unbeatable once more, wench," Jaime smiles lazily, but then adds in a silent voice. "Ye know I'd be protectin' ye, too, right?"

"Just as I'd protect ye," she replies with a small smile.

They walk on for a while, but Brienne suddenly starts to almost sing Cersei's name again and again until she blurts out, "And she's soooo pretty, or well, she was. Haven't seen her in years, so can't say how she looks like now… Though I reckon she didn't just wake up ugly one day. You must be born ugly to be ugly, _I_ should know."

"She's still as beautiful as ever," Jaime replies automatically. He doesn't have to be sober for that sentences to come. He said it to himself so many times by now, it is scorched into his mind.

"That's what I thought. Really, it burned my eyes, her… her beauty. The long hair 'nd the figure 'nd her eyes 'nd her lips 'nd her hands 'nd surely even her feet are… fairer than some people's faces," Brienne goes on.

"So what?" Jaime frowns.

"Did ye know I had long hair until my sixth namesday?" Brienne then says, only adding to his confusion.

"No, I've never seen ye in somethin' else but short, unruly curls," Jaime replies, amused at the image of Brienne with long hair now in his head.

"Hm, hm, all the way up to here," she says, motioning at her shoulder blade. "I had it all braided 'nd styled with… with flowers 'nd ribbons."

"I bet it looked nice on you," Jaime chuckles softly, but Brienne just shakes her head, "Nope. I looked like a clown from… the circus. Just b'cause ye braid your hair doesn't make your face less ugly. Just like a dress doesn't make ye a lady. If you're ugly, there is nothin' ye can do, in fact. Ye are just… ugly. But Cersei's pretty, so she can braid her hair all she wants."

"Ah-ha?" he looks at her.

"I cut it off one night, the hair, I mean. I was soooo furious after a boy had called me names again. I burned that thing in the fire… my Father was sooo mad at me. B'cause it stank, for one, 'nd b'cause it was the only thing that made me… girlish in a way, never pretty, but girlish," she goes on.

"So what does that tale tell us?" Jaime wriggles his eyebrows. She looks at him, "Hm? Is it supposed to tell us somethin'?"

"Well, the stories ye gave me to read always had some deeper message, no?" Jaime slurs. Brienne contemplates for a long moment, before she starts to nod slowly, "Ah, right, uhh… And the moral of… this tale: Some girls are pretty, some are witty, some tall, some small, some are lovely, but there's always one that's simply ugly?"

"That rhyme's awful," Jaime cries out with a crooked smile.

"But it's right!" she insists, licking her lips. "But there's more! There's more!"

"Noooo," he exhales, but Brienne goes on, unabashed, "You can take all the ugly wenches and seat them on benches, in finest garb, make them sing songs or play the harp, but in the end, once they open their mouth, the men's gaze all go south, because up north there's nothing to get, the least to get the Lords wet so they take the ladies to bed. But beware, some of them might just as well be a bear - and tear the poor Lord shred for shred, leaving him in the awful dread that in the end he pushes up the daisies as he pushed the ladies - but did not sink his cock anywhere close to where the pretty angels flock. Thus, my friend, please always remember… the wenches, if ugly, are but fiery ember, which can boil any man's member."

"That's absolutely awful," Jaime laughs drily.

"For very intoxicat'd, it still rhymes better than I thought," Brienne argues.

"But the content!" he insists, to which she only shrugs.

"I didn't think ye'd have the dirty songs in you," he grimaces.

"That was rhymin', no singin'. And I know all dirty songs by heart, forth 'nd back, back 'nd forth… I should write 'em myself, maybe, 'bout the wenches in the clenches 'nd the lords with warts 'nd the knights in the tight tights… 'nd the ladies with the babies 'nd the ladies and the crazies… 'nd… 'nd the giants 'nd the lions," she goes on, smiling dumbly.

"Giants and lions? That's you and I!" Jaime cries out, now with more delight.

"Is it?! Oh, I shan't write a song about that, no, no," Brienne wrinkles her nose.

"Why not?" he frowns. "That'd be nicer than the song about the wenches. No one gets to sing nasty songs 'bout my wench, even if my wench's the one singin' them."

She looks at him, dazed, unsure what to make of that statement.

"We should head home," he grimaces, looking ahead.

"The way to Tarth is too far," she mewls.

"No, no, here in King's Landing, wench," he corrects her.

"I got no home here in King's Landing. I'm... with the other knights," she replies.

"Ye think it's good to go there dead drunk?" he grimaces, suddenly worry rising within him. Because he knows that some men will likely take advantage of a woman who is more than just intoxicated, especially if she stands out as much as Brienne does by nature. They may mock her about her mannish looks and behaviour, but Jaime fears that some might still want to claim that mannish woman as theirs for a night, wanting to have something exotic.

Or to simply teach a woman 'her place'.

This was surely easier when they were both still youths, then they were always each other's guests.

" _You_ said I should get drunk!" she barks.

"Right, not my brightest idea," he admits, looking around. He can't let her go to the camp like that. He wouldn't ever forgive himself if something happened to her after he convinced her to go drinking with her. "Huh… can ye keep your mouth shut?"

"Can you?" she retorts.

"Hm, sometimes… I got a room without lecherous knights I call my own," Jaime explains.

"You ain't one?" she huffs.

"Nah," he waves his hand at her.

"Well, then… ugh… do I have a choice, I'm not sure?" she frowns.

"Nah," he replies.

"Hm, then show it!" she shrugs.

"But you must keep quiet, wench," he warns her, holding out his index finger out to her lazily.

The two make their way to Jaime's room, which proves to be more difficult than anticipated, since both are dead drunk. Jaime stops at one corner to see if the path is clear, and Brienne bumps into him.

He turns around to her with a hiss, "Shht!"

"You shht," she snarls back, peeking her head past him, and walks on. Jaime quickly catches up to her to guide the rest of the way.

The Gods are seemingly on their side for once, since they make it to his room without anyone's notice after all. Jaime closes the door behind them. He lights two candles, though it proves to be difficult with his lazy hands. Brienne looks around, hands folded in her back, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Jaime lets out a light cough to get her attention. She turns to him slowly, so Jaime speaks up with a smug grin, "That's a bed and that's a window and that's…"

He frowns at the object he is sluggishly pointing at, "I don't know what that is. What is that called again?"

"Recamier," she scaffolds, even though it comes out just as slurred.

"Ahhhh yes, _furniture_ ," Jaime nods.

"Bed," she then says.

"Nah, you can take the real bed. I'm takin' the furniture," Jaime argues, but Brienne already sits down on the Recamier, "Nah, this is mine for the night. It has my colours, haven't ye noticed?"

He frowns at the Recamier. He never realized that it actually has some of the colours you can find in Tarth's banner. He just liked it and that is why he picked it.

"Oh, if that's so, then of course…," Jaime nods absently. He shuffles over to his bed, falling down on it with the face first.

"Brienne?" he asks after a while, his face still halfway buried in the fabric of the bedsheet, muffling most of his voice.

"What?" she asks gruffly, now sprawled over the Recamier, though she is far too tall to lie on it comfortably. However, Jaime knows better than to tell her so. The wench is too stubborn.

"It's curious, ye know?" he begins.

"What?" she frowns, her voice still overflowing with annoyance.

"We haven't seen each other for _so_ long... and still, we act, ugh… just like we did as children… well, except for the drinkin', of course," he mumbles, finding his mind drifting away.

"That's because ye always end up draggin' me into these situations," she sighs.

"What? _I_ do? _You_ did! _Always_!" Jaime argues vehemently.

"In any case... the reason's simple," Brienne exhales tiredly.

"Yeah?" he frowns.

"Lemme ask ye this: Why do we read a story again, though we know how it ends?" she questions. Jaime contemplates for a long moment, his mind sluggish from the wine, "I don't know."

"B'cause we're familiar with it. B'cause we want to be familiar with it again," Brienne explains, her eyelids almost closed now.

"And how does that relate to us?" Jaime puckers his lips.

"We always do the same things b'cause it revives this feeling of familiarity, as though we've never been apart, despite the fact that we were," she says. "We try to retell our single stories to put them next to each other again, to make it our story once more."

"That makes sense," he nods slowly. "You're so insightful when ye are drunk."

"Sleep now," she grunts.

"But…," he means to say, but she interrupts him. " _Sleep_ , Jaime."

"Night, wench," he mutters, burying himself in the pillows.

"Night, Goldie Curl," she sighs, her breath evening out mere seconds later. Jaime chuckles to himself.

Brienne of Tarth always brings him to smile. In fact, only she brings it back when he thought he lost it.

And suddenly, there seems to be a shared story again.


	16. Wake Me Up

Author's Note: Thanks for favoriting and following - and for sticking around ;)

I hope you'll enjoy^^

* * *

Jaime wakes up to the sound of a bird's song. He pries his eyes open slowly, trying to put his mind back together. He sits up slowly, his head still swimming, running his index finger and thumb over the corners of his mouth.

What a night. He didn't go out to get so drunk in felt ages… which reminds him…

Oh, right, there was something that night, too, or rather... someone.

Jaime whips his head around to see Brienne still sprawled over the Recamier, long legs dangling over the edge.

Oh, by the Seven, what was he thinking?! In drunken stupor, his ideas always seem so much brighter. While Jaime does not regret that he didn't let Brienne go to the other knights so heavily intoxicated, he now fears that someone will see her, with him. That would be disastrous for both. He, as part of the Kingsguard, vowed not to lay with women, which would easily be the implication of them leaving the room together. And for Brienne, still an honourable maiden, it would be a parallel situation, now sword to Renly Baratheon or not.

And that makes it ever the more clear to him that they are no children anymore after all, where no one really minded if he saw her in only just a cotton tunic and shorts.

Now people do not just mind or raise their eyebrows at them, no, but sanctions may follow.

Jaime gets to his feet and shuffles over to Brienne, shaking her by the shoulder, "Wench! Wake…"

He doesn't get to finish the sentences, however, as Brienne, eyes still closed, has an iron grip on his arm, pulling him forward. Jaime lets out a yelp, now face to face with her. That is the moment Brienne opens her eyes, seemingly awakening at this very second.

She really has good reflexes, he has to give her that much.

Brienne looks at him for a few seconds, her mind still sluggish from the wine. Jaime flashes a crooked smile, "Good morning to you, too, wench."

She pushes him away, sitting up at an instant. That tilts her head sideways, however.

By the Gods, why did she do this? Getting drunk like one of the hedge knights in Renly's camp. That is not how swords, knights or ladies behave, but Jaime always made her do stupid things, so at some point she shouldn't be surprised.

"I hate you so much right now," she growls, waiting for the nausea to pass.

"Leave that for later. We can't have it that people see us like that. They would get the entirely wrong idea," Jaime urges her.

"How did I let you convince me to go with you? I should have gone to the camp," Brienne grumbles, getting herself back together.

"I was drunk, alright? I didn't think about consequences, really," Jaime insists.

Or well, he thought about _one_ consequence - and that ruled out all others.

"You never do," she points out with a snort.

"True again," he shrugs.

"What do we do now?" she asks.

"We have to get you out of here before someone catches you here," Jaime replies, earning himself a roll of her eyes, "You don't say?"

Jaime waves at her dismissively and approaches the door to open it slightly ajar. He checks the hallway, finding it empty.

"The coast is clear," he hisses. "Now come, wench."

Brienne is up at an instant and right behind him.

"Maybe we can pretend that you visited me early on," Jaime contemplates as they shuffle through the corridors.

"Without a formal invitation? I don't think so," she returns, glancing around nervously.

They stop when they hear footsteps.

"Damn," both hiss simultaneously. Brienne's eyes focus on the window right next to her. She sticks her tongue in her left cheek, contemplating. Jaime catches her absent gaze out the window, "Oh, no, you're not."

"There's no one there," Brienne argues, the footsteps now very close. She is on the windowsill at an instant. Jaime's hands reach out to her, "Brienne!"

But that is when she is already out of the window. The knight leans over the windowsill, the air long since left him.

It might be that they are no longer children, but this really feels like their first meeting.

Jaime glances outside to see her hurrying out of the thick shrubbery growing underneath the window, swiping some leaves out of her hair, pretending that she didn't just jump out of the castle in any way – and walks away.

"Stupid wench, you..." he growls. "I'm going to…"

"Ser Jaime," he suddenly hears a voice in front of him. Jaime whips his head around to see a fellow of the Kingsguard approach him. Jaime runs his fingers through his hair, putting on the nicest of smiles.

"Oh, ugh, good day," he replies, quickly approaching his fellow.

"Is there something interesting out that window?" the knight frowns.

"No, not at all," he assures him. "I thought I heard someone screaming, but it was seemingly just some children playing. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I wanted to inform you that your family has arrived," the knight replies. Jaime's eyes gleam for a moment as suddenly…

There she is.

"Cersei?!"

And just as suddenly, all of his thoughts disappear like startled pigeons.

"In fact," she says as she comes to stand in front of him, right next to the fellow knight.

"Ser? If you were so kind to give us a moment? My brother and I didn't see each other in a long time," Cersei smiles at him.

"Of course, Milady," he nods, then turns to Jaime. "Ser, I will see you later the day."

"Of course," Jaime nods. The knight turns around and walks away, leaving two halves parted for a long time in close proximity. Jaime still can't help but stare. She looks just the way he remembered her to, the way he had dreamed of her.

And while he knew that she would come, it takes his breath away to have her suddenly in front of him again.

It seems so surreal that he is almost too afraid to move.

"Is something wrong?" she asks with a cocked eyebrow.

"I'm just, ugh, surprised to see you. I didn't expect you so early on," Jaime replies hastily.

"Aha. And that is all you have to tell me?" she asks with narrowed eyes, and Jaime gets the cue, pulling her by her wrist, "C'mon then."

He drags her into his room. He claims her lips before he even knows what is going on. He doesn't know how, but she always draws him in, like a Siren's song.

"I missed you," he breathes against her mouth as he pulls away slightly.

"For a moment I thought you were disappointed," she huffs.

"What would make you think that?" Jaime frowns. Cersei pushes past him to take a seat on his bed without saying a word. Jaime follows her, taking her hand into his, "You know that I missed you more than words can say."

"Is that so?" she asks calmly.

"Of course," he assures her.

"Because I was under the impression that you looked out the window far too longingly," she says through pursed lips.

"Then you are under an illusion. I didn't see you – or else my eyes would have been on you all along," he tells her, getting a soft smile from her.

"Well, then maybe the tourney is good for something after all," she chuckles softly.

"It brought all of us together," Jaime nods.

"All of us?" she frowns.

"Well, there's Tyrion… I could care less about Father, but just imagine who else is coming?" Jaime goes on, enthusiasm suddenly returning to him. "Three guesses."

"I don't play these games," she argues.

She never did, that's right.

Brienne always loved those games, by contrast.

"Brienne. She arrived here yesterday," Jaime tells her with a smile.

"The boy-girl you were so fond of for whatever the reason when we were still children? What would she want here?" Cersei hisses.

"She is a sword now, under Renly Baratheon," Jaime goes on, still with a soft smile.

"A sword? Oh, by the Seven…," Cersei exhales.

"What? Her dream became true," Jaime frowns, his smile fading away. "Well, in part."

"This is grotesque," she argues vehemently. "She is grotesque."

" _We_ shouldn't be the ones to judge other people in their grotesqueness, don't you think?" Jaime argues, now very sincere.

Cersei knows that Brienne is his childhood friend – and that he holds her very dear. He told her numerous times that she was not talk about her in such a way.

Not that she ever listens, of course.

"We are not grotesque, Jaime. We are Lannisters, we are of higher blood, better than most of what creeps the face of this earth. We are two parts of a whole. This giant cow is…," Cersei means to say, but he interrupts her, "I told you that I do not wish to hear you insult her. She is a dear friend of mine - and I ask you to respect that."

Cersei angrily sets her jaw in a straight line.

"Doesn't she have to marry or so? I mean, if someone finally took pity in her?" Cersei argues, looking at her fingernails.

"Her Father is a good man. He gave her time to follow her dreams, which I honestly find very honourable of him. And who knows, maybe she finds herself a knight who can stand his ground against her?" Jaime replies.

"A sword... I must give her that much, she is always good for a surprise," she huffs.

"She is," Jaime smiles, ignoring her undertone, and says it the way he means it - with an air of adoration. She is always good for a surprise. She never ceases to amaze him.

"Do we have to talk about the tart… I mean Tarth?" Cersei exhales, sounding annoyed.

"I just meant to let you know. You have known her since childhood, too. I know you two didn't really like each other, but I thought that you were past this by now," Jaime says, making his disappointment no secret.

"Oh, you know that I would never hold any grudges," she argues.

"I know that you never hold no grudges," Jaime corrects her.

That is when her lips are back on his, passionately, possessively.

She draws him back in.

And he forgets everything around him.


	17. Fair

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around!

I hope you'll like it ;)

* * *

Jaime gets dressed, buttoning up his tunic, when Cersei comes up behind him, meaning to kiss him on the neck, but he doesn't lean into her touch, focused on the damned buttons. Why does it always have to be so many?!

"What?" she grunts against his neck.

"I'm sorry, but I am already late," he says. Jaime just has to get out of the shadow for a while. He fears he will lose his eyesight if he stays in the dark for much longer.

"What? Where are you going?" she demands. Cersei thought she would finally have him to herself, but she saw it the moment their split halves reunited that his eyes are not always on her, don't always search her. And after what he told her, there is one particular object in his vision.

And it is sapphire blue.

"I am meeting up with Tyrion and Brienne, I promised them. If you want to, you can of course come along," Jaime offers, confirming Cersei's suspicion.

" _Right_ , the knight, the dwarf, and the giant. What a lovely trio, no, no, I don't want to get in between _that_ ," she huffs, drawing away from him.

"Your call," he shrugs. At some point, Jaime knew that this would be the reaction.

And at another point, he is unsure if he isn't relieved about her rejection after all.

"Just make sure you return. You know that I won't stay long," Cersei tells him, hugging her arms.

"Neither will they," Jaime argues.

"They are not what I am, always keep that in mind," Cersei argues.

"You'd never let me forget," Jaime grunts, fixing his belt.

"I will dine with the royals, if you want to come searching for me," she says, disappearing out the door before he can say another word.

Jaime lets out a sigh, but then leaves the room as well. He wants to see his brother and Brienne - and not chase Cersei. She enjoys that game way too much.

* * *

Much to his delight, they already await him by the outer wall of the palace. Tyrion and Brienne met up earlier the day, or so Tyrion informed him. He wished he could have been there, but Jaime found himself pulled into the shadows before he had a chance to.

"Ah, there you are!" Tyrion greets him as Jaime approaches the two.

"You have kept us waiting," Brienne grimaces.

"It was not my intention, but I was held up," Jaime replies.

"Cersei?" Tyrion huffs. Jaime narrows his eyes at his younger brother. "I'm surprised she let you meet friends."

Jaime rolls his eyes.

"Hey, you are a knight now. Don't you think you have to defend me?" Jaime turns to Brienne with a feigned accusatory voice, though he is only met by a mischievous smirk, "What are you? A tart? If you as one of the Kingsguard cannot defend yourself against your little brother, then I truly made a mistake befriending you."

She turns around, making a few steps ahead. She wants to see more of King's Landing - and be as far away from Cersei as she can help.

"But really, it's good that I get to see you after all. I thought Cersei wouldn't let you leave your room until days later… One could think you are wife and husband," Tyrion mutters. Jaime growls deep in his throat, but chooses to ignore him. The two catch up to Brienne.

"So… what are you going to show us today, guide?" Tyrion goes on teasing him.

" _Guide_? I'm a proud member of the Kingsguard, and so the Gods will, Lord Commander one day!" Jaime insists.

"And I'm the Lord of Wine and Tits," Tyrion argues, but then turns to Brienne almost apologetically. "I beg your pardon, Milady Brienne."

The good thing is that the two talked before, so now she knows that he is no longer the sweet child who only wanted to hear stories. He is a small man now – and he enjoys the easy and sweet things of life. And his giantess gladly seems to understand that, even if only with a small frown.

She shrugs at him simply, "If I got upset each time someone mentioned these, I would probably die from shock. They are there. Most people enjoy them. They nurse children. That's it for me."

"But no, Milady, breasts are so much more. They were made by the Seven," Tyrion goes on.

"Could you spare us both the shame, brother? There is no way I will take you to the brothels. Mind the wench and her feelings," Jaime grunts. "And mine!"

"I just meant to say that breasts are perhaps one of the most beautiful things ever in the hand of man," Tyrion insists.

"Are we yet done with the talk about women's breasts?" Brienne rolls her eyes.

"Yes, please," Jaime agrees.

"Well, my dear brother, I mean, dear brother _of the Kingsguard, and so the Gods will, Lord Commander one day_ , didn't yet inform us about his plans, which leaves my mind to lead astray to the tits," Tyrion argues.

"He was sweeter when he was still a child," Brienne grimaces.

"Please, I'm adorable," Tyrion huffs.

"You ever found him sweet?" Jaime snorts.

"I start to call that into question," Brienne shrugs, but then looks around. "So? Where are we going to go?"

"Well, if it were to go according to the wench's wishes, we'd only see the tourney battlegrounds, if my little brother were to decide, we'd have to go to the brothels," Jaime grimaces.

"That's hard to compromise," Tyrion nods, puckering his lips.

"Which is why _I_ say where we'll go – and I won't have a word from either one of you," Jaime declares self-consciously – and it feels great to suddenly feel as though he was in charge of his life again. With Cersei, he is simply hers, no longer his own.

"Milady, he will drag us to a standard tour around Red Keep, I assure you," Tyrion warns her.

"If he does, we'll run," she huffs.

"You might have to carry me, though, I fear," Tyrion chuckles.

"I will save you, by my sword's honour," Brienne nods curtly. Jaime coughs lightly to get both their attention, and then declares in a dramatic voice, "Because there is a tourney in King's Landing little time from now, many other attractions are to be found in the city. Among many, the fairgrounds make the tourney ever so magical. Gladly for us, they already entertain young and old alike tonight."

"He is taking us to the fair… Brother, I think you tend to ignore that neither one of us is still a child. Milady is a sword, and I am a small Lord," Tyrion rolls his eyes.

"Wench?" Jaime grins.

"It's still better than the brothels," Brienne shrugs.

"Then let's do that," Jaime chuckles softly. Tyrion tilts his head as Brienne strides ahead of them while Jaime just goes on smiling like some dumb idiot.

* * *

Soon, they find themselves amid the masses of people roaming the fairgrounds as men and women spit fire, balance on stilts with their faces painted, people eat sliced fruit, lads try to seduce maidens, music plays and people dance to the tunes.

Tyrion leans over to his older brother, "Is there any certain reason why you drag us here of all places?"

"I'm only dragging you, as you might be able to notice," Jaime says, nodding ahead, where Brienne is roaming around, her eyes taking everyhing in at once.

"I never took her for the type," Tyrion frowns. He really thought that there are just the battlefields she'd enjoy, the stables, and nature, but no fairgrounds, really.

"She's never been to one," Jaime goes on to explain.

"What? I have been, numerous times, and that even though our Father was never one to take us to the fair," Tyrion huffs.

"In Tarth, they don't have them. While they have merchants coming to Tarth, no fairground people pass the Sapphire Isles," Jaime shrugs.

"But Lord Selwyn took her along to many places of Westeros, for all I know," Tyrion makes a face.

"But never when there was a fair, for some reason," Jaime replies.

"That's nice of you, you know?" Tyrion smiles softly.

"I am just distracting her from battle so I have easier play during the tourney, obviously," Jaime argues.

"Of course," Tyrion rolls his eyes.

In fact, he is doing it for much more selfish reasons. It's Jaime's odd and selfish way of compensating his sins by doing a good deed. As though it would erase what he did in the shadows. As though a bit of sapphire light would undo the reflections of green in the darkness.

He really wished that it was just the way it was when they were still young, when his actions were not yet tainted by wishes of compensation for his wrongdoings, when he simply did it to make Brienne smile or to make her fight him. And for a fleeting moment, he believed that he could just dive back into it, but then a Maiden jumped out a window, and a sister appeared out of the shadows.

And now Jaime finds himself dancing along the liminal space of his soul, balancing between white and black, good and bad, green and blue.

"If you excused me," Jaime says, clapping Tyrion on the shoulder before he goes ahead. Tyrion lets out a sigh, calling after him, "Yeah, yeah, just leave the dwarf alone when circus people are hungry for a new attraction!"

"You are so smart with words, I think you can convince them not to steal you," Jaime calls over his shoulder.

"I hope so for you!" Tyrion hollers, shaking his head. Jaime slows down to a casual stroll when he catches up to Brienne, his smug smile perfectly back in place, "And? How is the wench enjoying her first fair so far?"

"It's not the almost bad," Brienne chuckles, though her eyes are glistening with excitement.

"Not the almost bad? You are smiling over both cheeks, wench!" Jaime shakes his head.

"Fine, I admit, it is nice," Brienne exhales, but to another look of his adds, " _Very_ nice."

"At last you admit it," he chuckles softly. "You know it's alright to enjoy such a thing. Many people enjoy the fair, even a tough knight."

"I simply think that we are acting a bit childishly, don't you agree? Going to the fair... getting drunk... jumping out of windows," she exhales.

"Hey, I told you not to," Jaime huffs.

"You know how I mean it. We are no longer children," Brienne argues. "Don't you think we have to act differently?"

"Aren't all people small children in the end? How else would you explain wars? That's always the same struggle over who took whose toy," Jaime huffs.

"That is of course true," she nods.

"So I suppose it's alright to act a bit childish once in a while," Jaime shrugs.

He honestly prays for this to be true, or else he is damned.

"Which means 'always' in your case," she huffs.

They walk on for a while until they stop by one of the terraces.

"You know that you don't have to wear your armour at all times, right?" Jaime asks after a while, both leaning over the railing from where one can see the dark ocean only illuminated where the waves peak high enough to catch a bit of the orange shine of the festival.

"You are the one to talk, Jaime Lannister," Brienne says, not looking at him.

"What now? I'm an honest soul, Brienne of Tarth," Jaime argues jokingly, but that is when she looks at him and he understands that she is anything but joking, "You keep telling me that I should put my armour down, when in fact you are the one trying to hide behind it at this very moment. Jaime, I'm your only friend, don't forget that."

"Hey," he argues weakly.

"What? You are not as charming as you think. I am your one friend who stayed throughout the years. I know you better than most people," Brienne returns.

"What if that was so?" Jaime exhales, allowing his eyes to drift back into the darkness once more.

"Since that _is_ so, I know your smiles and I know your ways. You arrange for all this here not solely to make me put my armour down, or because you want to grant me something I was denied during my childhood. You do that also for yourself. I don't know what it is exactly, even though I have a vague idea, but this here gives you a chance to feel better about yourself… by doing a good deed," Brienne then says, leaving Jaime without a single word to utter. Jaime doesn't say anything. In fact, he can't.

Did he really become that obvious? And he thought and feared he mastered the arts of concealment all too well already.

"It's not that I blame you, please don't get me wrong. I am glad that you make room for an old friend like me, but… I don't like that smile you sport most of the time. Because it's a masquerade, a lie. And while I wouldn't dare mind you use it around other people, you don't put it down when around me either, at least now," Brienne goes on. Jaime licks his lips.

She always tells the truth, even if it hurts.

He nods at last, "You are right. And that is unfair because you do… you either fight in armour or without, but that goes for both sides."

"Exactly," she agrees. Jaime turns to her, allowing his features to show his true emotions in a felt eternity. Only now does he become aware that not only Brienne used her body to hide. He uses his smile, she uses her walk and her shoulders, but in the end, both only try to conceal what is hidden deep within.

"I really missed you, Brienne," he says in all earnest.

"I missed you, too," she replies honestly, a bit relieved to finally see her old friend shining through again.

Jaime runs a hand over his face, to ease the tension out of his muscles, "I never realized how tiring it is to keep up that fake smile. How do royals do that - all the time?"

"I bet they slurp some herbal potion that numbs their faces," Brienne huffs.

"I hope we won't ever have to taste that stuff, then," Jaime grimaces. "Truly, I should have you here in King's Landing, then I wouldn't have to make those fake smiles all the while."

"You start to sound like a pathetic tart, Jaime, so better watch it," she warns him.

"Hm, maybe I really should hire you for the Kingsguard," his voice trails off playfully.

"I serve Lord Renly," Brienne argues. "And anyways, you have no authority to 'hire' me."

"Yes, but I could woo you away into the King's service, you know, a few words to the King... he likes me," Jaime goes on musing, more excited about the idea than he ever dared to admit.

To serve side by side with Brienne seems very tempting all of a sudden.

A chance of being himself no matter the circumstance.

"As if I would ever serve under you," Brienne rolls her eyes. "Because that would likely be the case, since you'd be longer in the Kingsguard than I."

"The Kingsguard is much more prestigious than Renly's army!" Jaime argues vehemently.

"And it's not prestige I'm after, you know that," Brienne argues.

"So you think _I_ 'm after prestige?" Jaime puckers his lips.

Is he?

"I say you don't necessarily say 'no' to it," Brienne shrugs her broad shoulders.

"Oh, wench, that hurts my feelings! I am a true knight!" Jaime cries out, grabbing his chest the way he did since he met her. She nudges him in the side with a shake of her head, "I will not join the Kingsguard."

"But why? Taking me as possible Lord Commander aside for a second? Is that really the only reason?" Jaime frowns. He really thought that she would be a bit more delighted about the mere possibility. Knighthood is everything she ever dreamed of, so to don the white must be at least one level higher than becoming a sword of Renly Baratheon.

"I would be stuck with you – for all of my days," she huffs, but then adds quietly, "And I am certain that it would never come to it, for I am a wench."

"A wench who made it to Renly's army," Jaime argues.

"At the very bottom of the food chain. It's not that I mind, I am glad for it, you know that, but the time has yet to come that women can serve their Lords and Kings the same way the men can, without a frown on other people's lips," Brienne exhales.

"Women can rule but not serve. I never understood that," Jaime puckers his lips. There were strong warrioresses, especially in the Targaryen family tree, women in armours songs were written about, but these days, it seems as though they were just shadows ghosting over the books of the former days, leaving no ink on the pages anymore.

"Me neither. In the end, women are supposed to be capable of rule because it is oftentimes the dance of words. The dance of swords requires power, physical power, and that is something most men don't want to see their women capable of. It would take from them the natural dominance they think there is long since established," Brienne says.

"My, my, you spent some quite some time thinking about that, didn't you?" Jaime grimaces.

"If you live under these constraints, then they are always on your mind," Brienne shrugs.

"Well, maybe we'll have a queen one day, while we are still alive, and then she'll have a Queensguard allowing women exclusively?" Jaime suggests.

"That's not what I would want. Many men are stronger than women. I just don't see the sense in excluding either one. Let those women serve who are willing and capable, but also let the men serve who are full of good spirit and ability. We could have far better armies if that were so," Brienne argues.

"I reckon that one of the problems is that there are not just true knights in the armies, and some many hedge swords would welcome a woman into their camps, but not at all for the actual purpose," Jaime exhales.

"Well, that is the advantage I have. I'm so ugly and mannish that most of them still mistake me for a fellow," Brienne snorts. "You have no idea how many men's eyes almost fell out when they expected me take out a member when they relieved themselves - and I could not deliver."

"But not all are that dense, and while still dense enough to harbour these ideas, they might still take advantage of you," Jaime replies. She turns to him, her sapphire eyes now almost green in the orange light, "I don't let them, Jaime."

"If they come to your tent with fifteen men, even you will have it hard to fend them off," Jaime argues, giving voice to worries that bubbled up ever since it dawned on him that Brienne is a sword now.

"I sleep with a dagger under my pillow, my sword next to me, and my light sleep has always been to just to that advantage. They'd hit the ground long before they'd approach my bedside," Brienne says, her jaw in a straight line.

"I am just saying," Jaime shrugs.

"Now, now, man of the Kingsguard, don't get too sheepish or else people might think that you worry about me," she scolds him playfully. However, this time he turns to her with much more honesty than she had expected, "I always worry about you, Brienne, because I care for you. I mean that in all earnest. I know that you can guard and protect yourself, but there can always be one moment of heedlessness that may cost you more than a jest at your expanses. Back in Tarth, you always had the protection of your name and your father. It's something different here and now, especially since you are a woman now, a woman wearing an armour."

"And still an eyesore of a woman. I never thought it would be to my protection, but it really is. Though of course I know that men can see past a face and only focus on a cunt," Brienne says straight-forwardly that Jaime has to blink twice before he can gather himself again, "Oh, my Lady is using foul words."

"Don't be surprised. That is what it is. My cunt is the only thing that makes me different in their eyes… but do we really have to discuss that matter just now? I want to enjoy my time here, not think about possible… other issues," Brienne argues, looking back to the festival again, the light in her eyes instantly back on, catching green fire. Jaime nods. It's really not the right time to discuss these things.

He flashes a smile as he speaks up again, "Of course. How about we search Tyrion and go to see a play? I heard they will perform _The Knight and the Rose_."

"Really? I loved that book," Brienne grins happily.

"I think it was the fifth you gave to me. Though I liked the first best after all," Jaime nods.

"Because it plainly is," Brienne shrugs.

"Then let's find Tyrion before he drinks the entire fair empty - and then go to see the play," Jaime smirks. He holds out his arm to her with almost childish delight as Brienne rolls her eyes at him, but is surprised when she links her arm with his, muttering something along the lines of "if only to prove you wrong".

They walk on, leaving all troubles and fears in the pitchblack ocean while they go back into the light.

* * *

In a dark room, a young woman's voice calls out, "Milady?"

"What do you have to tell me?" the other voice questions.

"They went to the fair," the first voice replies. "They seemed quite close."

"Tell me everything you saw, leave out no detail," the second voice says. "Not a single one."


	18. Oyster

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking with my little story and shameless fangirling ;)

Enjoy ^^

* * *

Jaime just finished the last discussions with his fellows and the Lord Commander about the upcoming tournament - to be sure that the royal guests are safe. Brienne came to see him right after, since she was called to Renly for similar reasons. While she is not part of his personal guard , as is Loras Tyrell for instance, Brienne is still called forth to her new Lord more often than other knights would be. Jaime reckons that it is really that he is indeed rather protective of her, for which he is glad - and which greatly improved his picture of Renly Baratheon. He seems to be a man of honour after all.

"So? I didn't ask before, but have you improved your skills at all? I fear that what you put to display the last time we crossed swords will hardly suffice to ensure your… survival in the melee," Jaime teases as they start to walk down the corridors.

"And I hope you didn't get too lazy in your cosy palace that you forgot to train your skills. Already as a boy you hardly beat me. As a man of the Kingsuard, it would be a true shame to have a wench in an armour knock your teeth out," she returns with a grin.

"Ser Jaime!" a young boy calls out behind them. Jaime turns around to the ginger, "What can I do for you?"

"I am looking for, ugh, the Lady Brienne of Tarth, Ser, but I couldn't find her among the ladies in the garden. They told me to ask you about the matter," the ginger boy replies. He tilts his head as Brienne and Jaime laugh out loud.

"Sers?" he asks, blinking furiously. Jaime claps him on the shoulder, "You found the Lady already. This here is Brienne of Tarth."

"Oh, _oh_ , my apologies, Ser, I mean Milady, I… I…," the youth stammers.

"It is alright. What can I do for you?" Brienne asks, now in a reassuring tone.

"I am to deliver this letter to you. It arrived this morning," the boy says, holding out a slip of parchment with a wax seal to her. Brienne takes it from him, "I thank you. Just so that you know for the future, you will very likely not find me with the ladies in the gardens, _ever_. You'll have more luck looking where the knights and swords are."

"Yes, Milady, thanks, Milady," the boy nods frantically.

"You may go," Jaime tells him, still amused, as the ginger runs off as fast as he can.

"You scared him," he chuckles. Brienne rolls his eyes, but then her eyes fall back on the parchment in her hand, "From Tarth…"

That is when Jaime's amused laughter dies out, realising her change in tone and expression. Brienne tears the seal open and unfolds the message, her eyes skimming over the lines at rapid speed.

"What is it?" Jaime asks with a grimace, noting how her fingers clench tightly around the parchment once she is done.

"My Father, he is… ill," Brienne says, her face completely blank, allowing her body to rest against the stone wall of the corridor.

"Oh, I hope nothing too severe," Jaime puckers his lips, noting her suddenly even paler complexion.

"When I left to serve Lord Renly, he was unwell already, but it seems as though he has gotten worse," Brienne replies, biting her lower lip.

"Why didn't you tell me about that?" Jaime asks.

"He has been in a long time, and it was rather the result of growing old… and I don't like to think of it, I must admit," she admits, licking her lips, her eyes still fixed on the paper in her hands.

"Do you want to return to Tarth?" Jaime asks with a grimace.

"I don't know. Maybe I should," Brienne furrows her eyebrows worriedly.

"Well, you would miss the tournament. And the banquet thereafter, to congratulate me to my victory. But it is up to you, of course," he tries to joke weakly.

"Well, Maester Duvall writes that he is in no critical condition," Brienne argues.

"Who?" he frowns.

"He is the Maester of Tarth, and one of my father's most trusted advisors. Since my father's hands are rather shaky these days, Maester Duvall writes the letters for him," she tells him.

"Well, then he is in good hands, right?" Jaime argues. Brienne gives a faint nods, twisting her lower lip between index finger and thumb.

"Then maybe you could wait until after the melee – and leave thereafter, if necessary. I can surely make arrangements for you to leave with one of the best ships, if you wish," Jaime offers.

"Thank you," she sighs.

"It's nothing. Maybe I'll come with you," he shrugs, offering a warm smile.

"You have responsibilities here," she shakes her head.

"But Lord Selwyn is an old friend of mine. If he is ill, don't you think it would cheer him back up to see me?" Jaime argues.

"It will only make him sicker, I fear," she snorts, but then has to smile anyway.

"Ah, there she is," Jaime grins.

He really can't bear it to see her sad.

"It's… it's just that he is the only family I still have. He has always been so good to me, and that even though I gave him such a hard time, still do in fact…," she exhales. "Sometimes I think I am really too selfish, pursuing my _knightly_ career. I know that my Father would like to grant me a knight's life if it was within his powers, if I were a boy, but… but I am his only daughter, and he has to secure Tarth and its people in some way. And that is what I always deny him by living the lifestyle I live."

"It's not selfish, Brienne. You follow your dreams," he argues.

"Right, a dream solely for myself. The thing is that we don't live our lives solely for ourselves. We live for our King, for our Lord, for our fellow knights, brothers and sisters, we live for our loved ones, for those given into our care. So to me, it is selfish to try to live a dream that is only mine, because my life is not just mine," Brienne replies. Jaime turns around to lean against the wall next to her, their forearms brushing against each other's.

"It would be much easier if it was, right? To have a life only for yourself… though it would be pretty lonely, of course," Jaime sighs, flashing the smallest of smiles.

The hard part is to try to live by yourself when you know, deep down know, that you are only a half of your life.

"Very lonely indeed," she exhales.

They stay like that for a longer time, finding solace in each other's presence.

"Have you seen the training arena here yet? It's the best in all of Westeros," Jaime asks, hoping that the distraction will take her mind off of the dark thoughts and fears clouding her vision.

"No, I haven't," she replies.

"Do you want to see it?" Jaime turns his head to her, rolling the back of his head over the cold stone.

"I thought you'd never ask," she replies with a weary smile. The two start walking. Jaime pats her on the shoulder – and leaves it there – as they make their way to the training arena.

A shadow disappears into the shadows.

* * *

By the end of the day, the two find themselves in Jaime's room once more, a bit lighter in mood, finding comfort in the dim candlelight. After Renly Baratheon _introduced_ her as one of his trusted swords, no one frowned _much_ anymore when Jaime led Brienne to his room.

"Can you still remember this one time when you were in Casterly Rock for the second visit – and we went swimming?" Jaime grins.

"Oh, you mean that time when I beat you in yet another contest of your choice?" Brienne chuckles softly.

"I _would_ have jumped, but I heard them calling out to us to come back to the castle," Jaime insists.

" _Right_ ," she rolls her eyes. "So? What about it?"

"You also remember that I found this _marvellous_ oyster?" he goes on.

"The one that had two pearls in it, yes," Brienne nods. She can still remember his huge, white-teethed smile as he brought the oyster up from the azure blue surrounding them, clasped in his palms, breathing hard in need of air after the long time underwater. She also remembers the salty smell once he opened it - and two pearls shimmering back at them. And she remembers that Jaime gave her one of them.

Just as she can remember the smile she had on her lips throughout the day because of the gift. No boy had ever made her a gift, well, unless you take her second betrothed's rose in the dust as a gift of course. And by no means has anyone ever given her something that beautiful, by cracking open a thing she secretly identifies with.

An oyster. Hard, ugly, deformed on the outside, but inside, there might be a beautiful pearl after all.

"What did you do with yours, I always wondered?" he questions.

"What did you do with yours?" she huffs.

"You always make me go first, did you ever realize?" he exhales. "That's cowardice."

"It's wise," she snorts. "And if I were to guess, I'd say you gave it to Cersei."

"In fact I did not," he chuckles softly.

It's odd, really, that he never even considered it. It would have been such a pretty gift to win one of her smiles, but Jaime knew back then right at an instant that it would never be meant for his sister.

"Then what did you do with it?" she asks.

Jaime grabs into his chest pocket to retrieve the small package of letters he kept, "Turns out that pearls are nice buttons, too. At least it helps to keep the letters together, with a leather cord."

Brienne tries not to stare at the fact that even now he has them with him.

"So? What did the wench do with it?" Jaime asks. "C'mon, I told you, too, so now you can't hold back anymore."

Brienne nods and grabs something by her belt. Jaime tilts his head as she pulls out the object in question. She presents him a small dagger with wooden handle. Jaime takes it into his hands, running his fingers over the marvellously executed piece of whittling, "I take it that you did that yourself?"

"I made the handle and then asked the blacksmith to make a dagger to fit it," Brienne nods.

"I never mastered the arts of whittling, I must admit," Jaime chuckles softly, his eyes still gazing at the piece of _art_ , really. He twists it around – and sees a small pearl shining at him, right at the bottom of the small scenery whittled into the wood. Jaime inspects it closer to take in the whole scene: Two people crossing swords, an open book at the bottom, the sun shining from above, and out of the book springs the pearl like a spirit.

Jaime has seen many weapons. He has perhaps seen the best in all of Westeros, but for some reason, Jaime finds this particular dagger perhaps the most beautiful weapon he has ever seen - because it doesn't have a golden handle, is not covered in pricy gemstones. It's natural, honest, functional, but with a hint of a dream carved into the handle, and a single token of conventional beauty, the brilliantly shining pearl.

"So we both kept the pearls after all," Jaime smiles as he hands the dagger back to her. "Though I may add that you put it to a more artistic use in the end."

"Yours is just as functional. You know that I don't really care about prettiness. For that I'm too ugly," she snorts, for some reason reminded that she might be no oyster after all, and only some ugly seashell without any chance of a pearl inside.

Jaime means to say something, but that is when Brienne is suddenly on her feet, "In any case, I think I should head out, or else people will get the wrong idea, _again_ – and I'm not too eager to pick leaves and twigs out of my garbs for days, _again_."

"We are not drunk this time," Jaime says with a small smile.

"I will see you tomorrow for the tourney," Brienne nods.

"I'm looking forward to it," he replies, but then asks in a softer, more sincere voice, "Are you going to be alright?"

"If you think that this means that I will go easy on you, you are mistaken," she tells him, but then adds in the same soft tone, "I will be alright. My father is strong. And he'll feel even better once he gets to know that I still win against you. So don't you dare go easy on me, because I won't either."

"Good, I wouldn't have it any other way," Jaime chuckles. Brienne slips out of the room thereafter.

Jaime leans back on his bed, leaving the package of letters with the pearl attached on his forehead, drifting off to sleep fast.


	19. Tourney

Author's Note: Thanks for staying with me ;)

As a small warning: I am not too proficient describing battle scenes, just to give you a fair warning, neither am I expert when it comes to sword fighting or medieval/GoT battling rules. This is mostly based on internet research, so I hope it's halfway authentic in that regard.

I hope you'll like this chapter anyway.

* * *

At last, the day of the tournament came. The entire city seems to be in uproar in sheer anticipation.

While knights and common people alike could care less about the royal entry and speeches, no one dares to interrupt the royals in their self-adulations for as long as that ensures entertainment and knightly fights of honour.

Before Jaime knew that Brienne would participate in the tournament, he considered to take part in the jousting, but the knight of the Kingsguard eventually decided to join the melee. He wants to fight his childhood friend, he promised her.

Loras Tyrell, Renly's most trusted and one of the most able young knights to be found, by contrast, will take part in the jousting, and not the melee, leaving him as one of the spectators next to his lord, watching on as the knights gather for the melee, pawing the ground like horses.

Jaime had to try hard not chuckle when he caught sight of her, already fully dressed and with the helmet on her head to cover her sapphire eyes. Not because she looked ridiculous in any way, no, she has a kind of dignity in her walk that many man lack these days, but the idea simply amused him that she would follow through with the plan after all - to prove the world wrong for once and show a knight's worth without the 'right' title or even the 'right' gender. Jaime only nodded at her, not wanting to give away her identity, and Brienne nodded back, her mind focused on the upcoming fight.

After some more speeches and announcements, the fanfare howls and the battles begin.

Dust climbs high in the air, like a blooming flower.

The crowd cheers and yells their favourites' names, hum like wind blowing through boughs.

Swords collide, thorny vines entwine to climb higher.

Men fall into the dust, wither like dry leaves.

Some get up.

Many don't.

But not once does a woman hidden behind a strong armour kiss the dust yet.

Jaime can observe from the corner of his eye as Brienne stays true to her promise – and gets back at all the men who dared to mock her. At the same time, she silences all those other whispers that hushed over the ranks when they saw Brienne approach. Some folks already start to cheer her on despite the fact that few know Tarth's banner - or who is behind that armour by extension.

Jaime can't help but grin as he fights his way through the melee, showing all of his expertise – because he is by no means no longer the boy who bit the dust to a girl's feet, and yelled at her to play according to the rules. He was knighted for a reason after all.

And soon there are just two more contestants standing upright. Jaime smirks as he turns around, swinging his sword expertly, letting it sing for a moment.

"At last, wench," Jaime grins, flipping his sword expertly once more. However, Brienne, without further prelude, simply charges him, bringing her sword down on him with a harsh blow, harsher than most blows Jaime had to dodge throughout the melee entire.

"It's good to know that you slightly improved since the last time we fought," Jaime snickers.

"While you haven't improved at all," Brienne grunts, her mind set on nothing but her sword and his. Jaime grins, his arms moving out fast enough for Brienne to have to take a step back.

The two dance the dance of the swords thereafter.

"Yield, wench, you won't make it for much longer," Jaime licks his teeth as they cross swords, only inches from each other's faces.

"I could do this all day long," Brienne growls, pushing him back.

"I don't think I have the time for that, however," Jaime argues, charging her again.

From the royal ranks, whispers start to boil up - about who the sword is who is now fighting one of the most promising men of the Kingsguard. Tyrion grins, knowing who it is of course.

"This is tiring to watch," Cersei exhales, a hand to her forehead. Tyrion huffs at her, "This is our brother in the arena, dearest sister."

"And a cow in disguise," she mutters. Tyrion grimaces. Did Jaime tell her about that - or where did she get the information?

Down in the arena, all of this goes unnoticed, however, Brienne and Jaime too focused on each other's movement.

"Last chance, wench," Jaime growls through gritted teeth, looking like a true lion.

Jaime hauls off, but Brienne, anticipating his move, charges forward, closing the distance for him to have a chance to use his momentum to full extent. She forces him backwards, shifting his centre of gravity. Jaime growls as he pushes against her.

He realizes too late that his shifted centre gives Brienne's sword way to slip past his sword, past his defence. His eyes open wide – and wide eyes stare back at him as the sword comes closer to the holes of his ventail, right where his left eye is. However, as the blunt blade is about to go through the ventail, it suddenly dips up like a whale diving out of the water, and then disappears out of his sight, and he can hear the sound of metal hitting the ground.

Brienne managed to pull back at the last second, if only by making herself "slip" and fall forward, slightly past him. Yet, their helmets collide as they clink together, making them both dizzy. Brienne hits the ground hard, head sinking into the dust deeply.

Jaime needs a moment to gather his wits again. He straightens up, staggering forward a few steps. He turns his head arond only to find Brienne still in the dust. He means to walk over, but his feet still travel the other way, still misguided by the blow to the head. For a moment, he can't hear anything, only a loud bell ringing inside his ears.

Why is she not yet back up? They still have to finish their fight...

The bell stops singing and Jaime can hear the silence from the ranks, which never means anything good. Before Jaime can even make a move in Brienne's direction, a young man is on the field, sliding down next to Brienne. He gestures at the referee, who then proclaims in a loud voice, "Since the other contestant can no longer fight, Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard wins the tournament! Ser Jaime is the champion!"

Jaime can hear the crowd cheering him on, but he just looks at his childhood friend and kneels down next to her, forgetting about the rest of the world at an instant. He tears his helmet away, letting it fall into the dust.

On the royal ranks, Tyrion and Renly both rose from their seats, glancing at the still unmoving form of Renly's sword in the dust.

Jaime makes his way over to Brienne, ignoring the referee who means to tell him that he is supposed to get his price - or so Jaime figures - but the knight doesn't care at all. The young man, meanwhile, removes Brienne's helmet carefully, revealing her blonde hair.

More murmurs rise from the ranks.

 _Is that... a woman?_

 _Who is that?_

 _Since when do women fight in melees?_

 _Since when are women knights?_

"What is it with her?" Jaime demands, his mind clearing up more and more, which only leads to the worry to rise higher and higher within him as well.

"I reckon her ventail broke from the blow and then she hit her head on that stone, Ser," the young man replies curtly, nodding at a fairly big stone lying in the dust. Jaime's eyes tear away from the sharp-edged object back to Brienne, where blood flows freely from a cut on her forehead, almost like small tendrils.

"Brienne?" he calls out, worry washing through him in giant waves. "Brienne!"

He has his hand on her hip, shaking her slightly to stir a reaction as they wait for the healers, who take _forever and longer_ , or so it appears to him.

From the ranks, he can hear some people asking her name.

"Now everyone is making a fuss. Isn't that what usually happens during these melees?" Cersei exhales. She looks around, and more and more faces are filled with concern.

This is a cow.

Why is everyone feeling worry for her now?!

Her eyes drift to Renly Baratheon talking to his brother Robert in a hurried voice, after he sent Loras Tyrell off to handle something for him, seemingly also summoning a healer.

However, Jaime doesn't hear any of it, his eyes overtaking his ears.

"C'mon now, wench," he mutters, running his thumb over her cheek, when suddenly her upper body bolts up with a gasp dying on her lips. Jaime holds her by both shoulders to keep her from falling over, "Brienne! Brienne! Easy now. You got a wound to the head. The healer will be there any second."

"You won?" is the only thing she asks.

Of course that is the only thing she asks.

"You fainted for a few moments," he explains to her numbly. Brienne lets out a feral growl, thrusting her balled fist into the sand, which only makes her sway once more. Jaime holds on to her more firmly, "Easy there. Hold still until the healer has taken a look at your wound."

That is when _finally_ the healer approaches to check on her at an instant. Jaime moves back far enough to give the man the space needed, but his hand doesn't leave Brienne for only just a second. He needs that bit of reassurance for some reason he can't explain.

"How bad is it?" he asks.

"Not too bad, I believe, Ser. Head wounds tend to bleed more than other wounds. The wound needs to be thoroughly cleaned and stitched, however," the healer replies as he puts a bandage around her head. "Milady, do you think you can stand?"

Brienne doesn't have to be asked twice, of course, instantly shifting her weight to come to her feet. Jaime has a steady hand on her to make sure her pride is not so much greater than her current abilities. They start to walk away from the arena slowly.

Brienne screws her eyes shut, feeling humiliation and shame wash over her. She knows she did the right thing, but now it's over, and she didn't prove them wrong in the end. Brienne didn't win. She lost, she yielded without saying it. In the end, her stupid, ugly body makes the choice for her, and has no better to do than to give in. Brienne could not tear her helmet away, stepping before the lords and ladies, to reveal her true nature, instead, it was forced off her head too early. She didn't manage what she had set out for herself. Now she will still be laughed at as the "almost man", who might be a good fight, but not as good as a man in the end.

That is when she can hear… the clapping of hands, which shouldn't come as a surprise, since their man of the Kingsguard won the battle, but then a small chorus rises.

"Tarth!"

"Tarth!"

"Tarth!"

Tyrion claps his hands to the rhythm coming from the ranks, glad that for once the people realize an act of nobility as such and care to appreciate it. And he smiles ever the brighter seeming Cersei boil in her own juices of spite and jealousy.

"Well fought, Lady Brienne!" he yells in-between the chorus so one can hear his voice.

Tyrion turns to Renly Baratheon, who also smiles in relief, "Lord Renly, I can only congratulate you to your excellent choice when it comes to gathering your swords. Loras Tyrell is already a gift, but now to have a novelty such as is Brienne of Tarth, I daresay that your army will have a great advantage."

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion. Though I must admit that I did not know that she was so talented," Renly admits. "I only found it proper to offer her a place, but now I come to realize I should never have regarded it an act of goodwill. She is one of the best assets I have made to my guard ever since Ser Tyrell joined service under me. I just hope that she is alright after all."

"I hope so, too," Tyrion nods, walking back over to his clan, leaning closer to Cersei as he passes, "Maybe that teaches you, dear sister."

"Teach me what?" she hisses in a low voice.

"That in the end the true heroes will be victor," he says before making his way down the ranks, wanting to see after his brother and their childhood friend.

Brienne still stares at the ground, her mind sluggish from the blow. Is she fascinating this now? That people call her name - _not_ in mockery? Is this all but a dream? However, that is when she feels Jaime pat her on the shoulder, the metal of their armours chinking, "The people know who should have won that fight."

They disappear from the arena and out of everyone's sight – and soon, all seems forgotten as the tourney goes its usual ways.

However, for a brief moment, a knight gained the laurels she deserved in years.

* * *

As night draws close, Brienne finds herself in a chamber she was assigned, a small gesture of her Lord Renly to show his pride for her. She is sprawled over the bed, her feet resting on one of the stools, while Jaime sits on a chair and has his legs rested on the bed next to her.

The healer assured them that the wound was not too severe, though she will likely suffer through migraine for the rest of the night. Brienne already lamented about being forced to wear a bandage around her head, stating that she had worse wounds to the head, though it only took a hiss from Jaime to silence her as he stated that she will do whatever the healer says - after she scared him so much once more.

It's likely needless to mention that Jaime, when asked to attend the banquet in honour of his victory, politely but resolutely told them that he will dine in private, with the other contestant.

"Why did you do it?" he asks at last, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Why did I do what?" she asks.

"You and I both know that you would have gotten me if you had not yanked back last second, which resulted in your injury," Jaime replies.

"I had no intention to knock myself unconscious. I don't know how the ventail broke off from this one blow – and I surely didn't put the stone there to knock my head against," she argues sternly.

"You pulled back," he repeats. He knows that Brienne certainly didn't plan on knocking herself out, but she had a plan when she shifted her weight away from him to bypass a blow.

" _Of course_ I pulled back," she huffs.

" _Of course_ you pulled back? Are you sure your head is alright? Brienne of Tarth never hesitates, she never pulls back, _never_ ," Jaime looks at her. He still has a good number of scars from the many times his old friend did _not_ care for a single moment to pull back. It was what she always prided herself with - that she always took any fight seriously.

"She does if it is for a mock fight," Brienne replies.

"What now?" he grimaces.

"I don't pull back when it is a real fight. I will slay whoever comes my way. You know that," she shrugs. "However, this was a melee. A simple display fight. Do you sincerely believe that I would ever risk your eyesight only to get a good hit and short-lived victory? That is not how a knight would ever act."

"That is how most would act," Jaime huffs.

"But I am not most knights," she argues sternly.

"No, you are most definitely not," he exhales, but then looks at her again.

Despite her gender, Brienne consists of the stuff true knights are made of. The tourney only showed it again. It wasn't that a knight was born on that battlefield. It was that the world, for once, had to recognize that a knight has always lived in that armour already.

"You would have done the same thing, I'm sure. We are friends, Jaime. Even the wish of victory doesn't get between that, ever," Brienne sighs.

"Of course I would have pulled back," he agrees.

"So... you were just lucky enough that I was the one who had to make the choice today," Brienne shrugs. "And the next time... I will beat you for sure. And if you dare to make such a foolish move again - and try to hit from a position where you are clearly off-balance, I might reconsider."

Jaime chuckles softly, "Never again, I can assure you of that."

"Good," she grins.

There is a moment of silence.

"Brienne?" he asks after a while.

"What is it?" she sighs.

"Thank you," he says.

"Don't thank me for it, or else I will regret it even more than I do anyways. I had any chance to beat you, by the Gods," she grunts, holding her head.

"Your call," he shrugs. She nudges his stool with her lower leg, almost bringing Jaime off-balance.

"Wench, stop that!" he cries out. Brienne means to say something, but that is when there is a knock on the door.

"C'mon in," she says, and the ginger haired boy who delivered a message from home slips inside, "Ser? Milady? I'm sorry to interrupt at such hour, but I have a message to deliver."

He hands a rolled parchment over to Brienne.

"From Tarth," she grimaces.

"You may go," Jaime nods at the boy, who slips out of the room as fast as he slipped inside. Brienne already tore the message open and now studies the note. Jaime studies her in turn.

"What does it say?" he asks, licking his lips nervously. He almost lost her today – he doesn't like the thought that someone dear to her might have slipped away from her while she is here.

"Maester Duvall writes that my Father has greatly improved over the last days," Brienne smiles, her eyes shining ever so brightly.

"That is a relief," Jaime nods, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"It is," she agrees.

"Well, that means that you can take your time to heal back up – and spend more time with your dearest friend," Jaime grins.

"Tyrion? He says he has to return to Casterly Rock little time from now," Brienne blinks at him. Jaime clenches his chest, "Oh, the pain, it's back! Oh, my heart!"

"I am the one having pain thanks to you, so shut your mouth," she warns him.

Both start to tilt each other's stools over, laughing in happiness and relief.

Victory comes in odd shapes at times.


	20. Help

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around - and for following, favoriting, and reviewing.

Mini-spoiler-warning for this chapter (don't like, don't read, or read later): I bring in Renly here because I thought that him vouching for them would actually convince the King. Once again, politics is not my field of expertise, even less Westerosi politics. And as I said previously, I keep the King passive. I just have too little knowledge of that guy. So I apologize in advance for more squishiness and perhaps a bit of constructedness, too.

In response to my wonderful reviewers - a bit longer this time:

To Strappy Sandals: I am glad that you enjoy it - and thank you. And I agree, their relationship has stalled out in a way, but I didn't do that because I personally forgot, I did so purposely because I took the kiss in Chapter 14 for more of a gesture on Jaime's side. He is not yet conscious of his feelings for Brienne on that level. Sadly for Brienne, he perceives it as more of a way to apologize for what happened previously and because of his growing interest for the one other girl he is around other than Cersei, which stays on a subconscious level, however. Similarly, both regarded it as a goodbye, since they were both convinced that they would likely not see each other again in a long time, which is why both probably deemed whatever feelings they may for each other as fruitless in the face of the distance between them. I will return to that kiss, so maybe that will give some explanation, at least I hope so. But thank you very much for pointing that out to me.

To Iskandar06: Thank you for the review. I would recommend you to read the Author's Note from Chapter 15. There I said that I would change Renly's age so that Brienne can appear as his sworn sword. I had him come in at that point because I liked him so much and wanted to include him - but as a child, this hardly would have worked. And to wait until he is actually adult to have Brienne serve under him and for the tourney to take place would mess with my plotline. I also gave the AU warning, which is why I take the liberty to do so, but thank you.

To Emumoon: Thank you! And I agree. I honestly felt the need to have Tyrion no longer as this lonely guy at all times. I hope I can keep it up ;)

To my Argentinian friend: ¡Muchas gracias! True, girls never forget, and Brienne didn't either, but she understood it in another way. I am glad that even with translation problems you enjoy the story ;)

To elaine451: Thanks for the reviews! I know it's a bit ooc-ish, but that's why I gave the warning in advance. Brienne really does make him a better person in my opinion - though I can't say without spoilering too much to what degree I will portray it in my story - and what it will do with Cersei in turn ;)

To your question, in case others wondered as well: I didn't keep exact tracks on how old they are at every stage of the chapters, so I can only roughly estimate that they are around the age of eleven during the events of Chapter 8. I know that this does not necessarily keep in-tune with happenings of the canon, but I still hope it's passable enough. In any case I gave the AU-warning also for these reasons ;) Thank you for asking^^

And in reply to your latest review on Chapter 13, you are right, Tyrion is perhaps a bit young to be drinking. I wasn't sure when exactly he started, so you have a good point that he only started after his first marriage. However, in the GoT universe, Sansa had her first wine at the age of fourteen (if I remember correctly), so I didn't think it was impossible that a boy who "enjoys the privilege of fools" because of his bad social standing as a dwarf coupled with his status as a man nevertheless may start earlier than a girl would. Plus, in the real medieval times, people drank alcohol already at a very young age because it was not so much packed with germs ;) But thanks a lot for pointing that out to me ;) I hope you'll enjoy the story as it goes on regardless of the squishy age-setting ;)

In any case, I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter ^^

* * *

After Brienne recovered from her head wound, Tyrion took her out for a stroll around the palace. He is to leave little time from now, and hopes to have a few more words with her – and in all secret, he wants to make sure that no more accidents happen to his wonderful giantess. As the youngest Lannister son learned by asking around, the hinge of the ventail of Brienne's helmet had been slightly loose on both sides, so when Jaime's and her head collided, the ventail came off on that side, giving space for the rock to smash against her head and cause the injury.

"So? What are your plans now?" Tyrion asks.

"I don't have real plans yet. I already wrote to my Father to ask if he wants me back in Tarth for a while. If so, I will talk to my Lord Renly if he can bear without me for a given time. If not, I will likely continue in his service," she replies. One can still see the healing head wound, but she does no longer have to wear the bandage, something that came to her as a huge relief for her especially. It makes Brienne feel sick and weak - not to mention the comments she gets from Jaime as a result.

She will surely miss that.

"And reaching further into the future?" Tyrion questions.

"I don't look into the future much. I rather leave it to soothsayers and priests to try to see something in fish's intestines or flames. I live in the here and now, because that is the time we can actively change, no?" Brienne shrugs.

And the future seems all too obscure and dark most of the time, so no, Brienne rather focuses on times that she still has a grip on.

"That is true of course, but I always think that having an agenda is a good thing, to set a general direction to travel," Tyrion argues.

"What are you hinting at?" Brienne narrows her eyes at the small man, who lets out a chuckle, "Well, I am wondering. I know that my Father is bragging about it in _my_ case already, and that even though I am hard to… marry off. I reckon that your dear Father won't just give up on the hope, will he?"

"No. It's always been this sort of game. I get betrothed, the marriage is called off, and Father takes some time until he goes looking again. I reckon that he hopes that by allowing me to live a sword's life, I will calm down and eventually comply with marital life. It's similar to the way men break their horns, just that I break other men's horns," Brienne says with a pensive grimace.

"Marvellously so," Tyrion agrees. "We all know that you would have disgraced the knight of the Kingsguard if not for the accident."

"Thank you," she grins. "But in the end... that is the life that awaits me, I know that. However, I have any intention to keep playing the game for as long as I can."

"Well, I just always think it'd be much easier if it were up to our choice, right? About who to love and who to wed?" Tyrion exhales.

"That is the scourge for royals, I suppose. While the poor are without means and live under the constraints of their Lords and Kings and their little income, royals live under the constraints of rules made in empty space, enforced by tradition and family obligations," Brienne sighs.

If even the cook who sounds like a pig can marry his sweetheart and have twins by now, then it surely has at least one advantage not to have a name you have to live up to.

"As a small child, I always wished that you would marry off my brother," Tyrion tells her, making Brienne frown at him, "Oh? Don't you mean to say that _he_ 'd marry _me_ off, if it had ever come to that?"

" _As if_. You beat him way too often for that," Tyrion snorts. She chuckles softly.

"But really, I hoped that it would happen one day. I prayed for it a few times, too," Tyrion goes on, his voice humming.

"Well, then I am sorry that we both deceived your childish hopes," Brienne shrugs.

Thinking back to the last night Tyrion and Jaime stayed in Tarth - and she and Jaime shared four secret kisses, things might have taken that turn, had they not parted thereafter. It must seem odd to most other people, but to them it had been so clear that no words were needed that this was no beginning of something but an ending. Till last, Brienne thought that she would never see the gates of King's Landing - and thus Jaime, too. Until Renly Baratheon showed up at that banquet to offer her a hand in dance, she was convinced that she would find herself in the constraints of marriage far sooner than later. She thought that the next time she and Jaime would see each other, he would wear an armour, and she a dress, given to her by her new husband. She dreaded that picture inside her head more than she would ever like to admit, but Brienne had given up on the hope that she would get out of this life - if her first, second, third, and fourth happened to be a young man who would soon thereafter don the white and renounce any sort of marital life.

Not to mention that Brienne always bore in mind that Jaime is one half of a whole, and the other half is his sister. She might be naïve most of her time, holding on to foolish hopes and ideals people long since gave up on, but she is not so naïve not to see what was and still is between them - and that this is nothing she could ever, by any chance, get in-between. Even four little kisses between youths in dim candlelight are not enough a magic to perform that sorcery.

So in the end, she saw the night as a way to say goodbye to her shared childhood with Jaime, and she reckons he perceived it in a similar way. It was an oath in small that Brienne was kissed first and once by someone whom she cares about more than most people in her life, someone she trusts deeply, and someone who trusts her the same way.

And even if she, by chance, misinterpreted the situation entire, Brienne is always conscious that whatever small bud may have grown that evening never came to bloom the moment Jaime donned the white. He is a proud member of the Kingsguard - and that means that whatever they may have had or may not have had truly stayed in that chamber. Thus, to Brienne it was clear that nothing would grow out of that bud except for a deeply-felt and honest friendship.

In an odd sense, she probably even wanted Jaime to join the Kingsguard so he may live both their dream of knighthood, because back then she didn't see it happening that she would fight him in King's Landing as a sword, and almost win. It might have been slightly selfish of her to think like that, to have him live a life in part for her, but Brienne always saw that gleam of pride in his eyes when he spoke of the Kingsguard. She wanted him to grow, and Brienne knew that nothing would grow out of this, so she let it go and focused on what could still grow and survive the years - their friendship, nourished by letters.

"Oh, no, don't be. It's as you say. A child being inside its own head. You can't imagine my disappointment for my dear brother when he made that nasty comment back when we were in Tarth. That really sank my ships," Tyrion goes on. Brienne can still remember the stabbing comments from the small man at Jaime's expenses to get back at the older brother for his wrongdoings during the Night of the Lynx.

"We were young and foolish back then, all of us," Brienne argues.

"Too true. And I soon had to realize that my dream wouldn't become reality, at last the moment Jaime donned the white. Yet, it looked so nice inside my head. Inside my vision, it just seemed so perfect – because I believed that I would then be able to escape my own family, and simply live with the two of you, and amuse my nephews and nieces," Tyrion goes on.

"Sadly, you happened to stumble into two knights," Brienne tilts her head to the side.

"Exactly," Tyrion agrees.

And two _foolish_ knights no less, Tyrion reminds himself.

She opens her mouth to say something else, when, for the third time, the ginger haired boy approaches her with fast strides, "Milady, another mail for you."

"Thank you," she nods, gesturing at the boy to leave.

" _Again_?" Tyrion frowns. She shrugs at him helplessly. Brienne rips the seal open, her eyes fixed on the parchment.

"What is it?" he asks.

"My Father, he…," she brings out, her voice shaking now.

"What?" Tyrion questions, noting her paling complexion.

"I must fetch the next ship to Tarth," Brienne shakes her head frantically.

"But why?" Tyrion asks.

"My Father suddenly got worse. The Maester says he will likely not make it," Brienne brings out, her voice croaked. Tyrion stares, but then gathers his wits back together, "You pack your things, I will have everything arranged for you."

"But…," she means to say, but Tyrion is faster. "I will handle it. Go."

She rushes off.

The sun disappears behind a single cloud.

* * *

"Where is she?" Jaime asks as he opens his brother's door without a knock a few hours later. He went looking for her everywhere!

"There you are! I have been looking for you," Tyrion cries out.

" _You_ have been looking for _me_?! _I_ have been looking for _Brienne_! We wanted to meet up at the Street of Steel after noon. She wanted to have her helmet fixed, but the wench never showed up," Jaime explains, licking his lips nervously.

"The Street of Steel was the last place I was looking for you, I shall be damned," Tyrion grunts, a hand to his head. He sent out the servants to look for him in the Red Keep and around the area. Tyrion had no idea that he would go there of all places.

"What's the matter?" Jaime demands.

"Brienne's left for Tarth," Tyrion explains.

"What? Why? And without saying goodbye?" Jaime shakes his head. That's not like her at all.

"A raven arrived this morning. A boy came to deliver the message while we took a walk. In the letter it said that her father is very ill," Tyrion tells him.

"But he had improved since," Jaime argues. Before, Brienne and he celebrated the small fortune among themselves.

"It said that he will likely not make it this time. He seemingly worsened all of a sudden," Tyrion says, his voice grave.

"By the Seven… we… we have to do something," Jaime bites his lower lip.

"I did the best I could and got her the next best ship to Tarth. I already asked Father if he allowed me to come along, but of course… not," Tyrion exhales. "I will have to leave to Casterly Rock tomorrow the latest."

"The problem is that I cannot leave as I please either," the older brother bites his lower lip. If only he wasn't a knight of the Kingsguard, at least at this very second.

"I will handle it," Tyrion then says, forcing Jaime's eyes back to him, "How?"

"I have it under control, trust me," Tyrion says. "I cannot travel myself, but if we handle this the right way, we can get at least you there. But we have to act fast."

"Thank you, Tyrion," Jaime exhales.

"So alright, you pack up your things, then come to the Great Hall and wait for me there," Tyrion says.

"What?" Jaime frowns, but Tyrion pushes him towards the door, "Go!"

Jaime disappears in a hurry. Tyrion makes his way down the hallway as well, and as fortune has it, the right person appears in his stead.

"Lord Renly! I have been looking for you," Tyrion cries out in relief.

"Oh, Lord Tyrion. What can I do for you?" Renly asks, tilting his head.

"Sadly, I have some bad news to deliver. I believe you know Lady Brienne's father?" Tyrion says, and the young Lord gives a nod, "Lord Selwyn, of course. He has always been a trustworthy friend of the House of Baratheon."

"He is very ill – a letter informed Lady Brienne of his truly critical condition. It said that the Lord of Tarth may not make it," Tyrion goes on.

"Oh, by the Gods," Renly looks at him in shock, visibly paling.

"I hope you are not upset about it that I had her leave to Tarth the earliest chance I got," Tyrion goes on. "She wanted to talk to you, but the ship sailed fast - and we couldn't find you."

"Of course not. We are in times of peace, so she shall be with her Father if he… if he passes away," Renly shakes his head, still not quite believing it.

"I am glad to hear that, Lord Renly. I don't know if you are aware, but my brother, Ser Jaime, is an old friend of hers," Tyrion then says.

"I guessed as much," Renly shrugs. "They have spent most of their time together."

"I fear that Lady Brienne has no one else to be there for her at this hour," Tyrion goes on. "Which is why I advised him to leave King's Landing to support her in Tarth."

"I see," Renly puckers his lips.

"So now… I hope that I can convince you to support the support. Ser Jaime is part of the Kingsguard, as you know, which means that he cannot leave as he pleases," Tyrion licks his lips.

"Yes," Renly nods uncertainly.

"I do not wish to upset the King by proposing to him to let one of his most promising men of the Kingsguard go away all so suddenly, but if he hears it from someone like you, one of his cousins no less, I am sure he will easily agree to you that it is absolutely necessary to release Ser Jaime from his duty to the Iron Throne for a short while," Tyrion then says.

"Well…," Renly grimaces.

"Because I think that your care for the Lady Brienne is in all earnest," Tyrion goes on.

"It is," Renly nods.

"No one should face the death of one's last family, if dear, alone, but to spare Lady Brienne that pain… we need a bit of help," Tyrion implores him. " _Your_ help."

"I suppose I can talk to the King and state that I asked Ser Jaime if he were so kind to stay by her side," Renly grimaces.

"Splendid, then how about we do that right now?" Tyrion agrees.

"Right now?" Renly makes a face.

"Well yes, my brother has to sail fast, but of course he cannot go without his King's permit," Tyrion shrugs.

"Of course," Renly nods slowly. Tyrion guides Renly to the Great Hall, where Jaime is already pawing one the ground like a horse. While Tyrion is not surprised that he was in such a hurry to make it here before them, with a bag packed, it does amaze him how fast his brother is after all.

"Lord Renly," Jaime bows to the royal.

"Ser Jaime," Renly nods at him.

"I asked Lord Renly to talk to the King about your temporary release from service," Tyrion explains briefly.

"Thank you, Lord Renly," Jaime says, looking at the man with honest gratitude.

"I just hope that this plea will turn out to be unnecessary in the end, because I pray that Lord Selwyn will be alright after all," Renly replies. "But if it comes to it, I want to know someone by her side."

Jaime nods. One can say about Renly Baratheon whatever he or she wants, but that man, however much he adores colours and other things, is a man of honour after all.

"We should not waste our time, let's go inside and convince the King of the urgency of our request, no?" Tyrion urges them. And so the three step inside. With Renly's and Tyrion's aid, and a lot of convincing arguments Tyrion mumbles to Renly about the importance of Tarth and its lands, they can convince the King to let Jaime go, also since no military actions are to be taken for a while.

Tyrion arranges for a ship to sail right thereafter, and soon Jaime finds himself inhaling salty air again, though it burns in his throat this time.


	21. Storm

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around, you are such a kind readership ;)

I hope ya'll like the chapter, even if things are not necessarily... sunny... for my characters.

* * *

Tyrion bites his thumb's nail pensively as he is on the way back to Casterly Rock.

"Could you stop that? The sounds are distracting," his sister fumes. Sadly, the wheel of her carriage broke – which means that he has to sit with her in the same carriage now, only to have her poke him with glances and little arrows made of spite and scorn alone.

"Your face is distracting, too," Tyrion huffs. "And you may be able to realize that I am more than concerned about Brienne and her father, so _excuse_ me if I am a bit nervous."

Cersei looks to the side, biting her lower lip, "I still ask myself how in the Seven Hells a dwarf convinced a King to have Jaime travel there, despite his responsibilities to the Iron Throne."

"Do you mean to say that you were badly surprised that he left?" Tyrion returns.

"Why should I be?" she snorts.

"Well, you seemed certainly disappointed at the fact that he didn't bid you farewell," Tyrion shrugs.

"Something _you_ conveniently arranged for," she argues.

"Oh _yes_ , since I give _so_ much on you two bidding farewell to each other or not. I was concerned for Brienne – not your hurt feelings of pride," Tyrion argues.

"It is against the rules that he is there," she argues.

"There are many things that are against the rules," Tyrion huffs. " _You_ should know best, sister. And compared to other things… that were done already, I think standing by the side of an old friend is truly a lesser evil. And in any case, Jaime went with the King's permit, whether you like it… or not."

"Sometimes I ask myself if you didn't just enchant the King," she mumbles, looking outside.

"Oh yes, since dwarves are magical creatures. If I were, you'd long since be a toad, in a cage in my chamber for me to poke you with a stick, believe me," Tyrion replies. "And I would have tits and wine till Winter comes – and beyond."

"I don't know how you did it, be it sorcery or something else, but normally, it never would have come to this," she argues.

"And still it did," Tyrion shrugs.

"Well, it's likely for nothing anyways," she exhales, not looking at him.

"You think Lord Selwyn will die?" Tyrion grimaces.

"I think that it doesn't matter. I think that the giant cow will now roam the fields of her own isles again no matter what happens to the Lord of Tarth," she replies in a small voice. "If her father is as ill as it appears, he cannot rule anymore. Which means that she must take over in his name. If he dies… then she has to take over, too. She is the last heir of Tarth, as she _always_ underlines."

"Well, but people recover, no? Lord Selwyn always was as healthy as an ox," Tyrion argues.

"And oxen and cows are brought to the slaughterhouse the same way once it's time," Cersei says, her voice no more than a whisper. Tyrion straightens up in his seat, licking his lips.

He just hopes that the ox still has his horns to fight.

* * *

After felt eternities, Jaime can sink his heels into Tarth's soil again. He almost jumps off the ship once it harbours. It took them an entire day longer than it should have because a storm raged while on the sea, making it impossible for them to travel forward in any significant way, and after that, the winds didn't blow as they had hoped, which means that they travelled even slower than usual. There was suddenly just rain, but no gust to bring them forward.

It's as though the sea already meant to foreshadow what happens on the isle, though Jaime hopes that it's just a wrong sense of foreboding, or no, he _prays_ that it is.

Jaime starts to make his way to the castle in a hurry, his boots sinking deep into the mud. As he is halfway there, Jaime catches sight of one of the islanders.

"Good man!" Jaime yells as he approaches the haggard looking man, pulling his donkey behind him slowly. The man looks at him with a small frown.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but do you know how your Lord Selwyn is by any chance?" Jaime asks, mentally bracing himself for whatever may come now the best he can.

The man just looks to the side sadly.

"He passed away two nights ago, Ser," the man tells him, confirming all of Jaime's fears. For a moment, Jaime's world tilts sideways. He only thinks back to the man who embraced him like a son when he came to the isles, who was proud of him the way his father should have been – and then he thinks of Brienne and what that means for her, which brings his heart into a tremor shaking his entire body.

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I must go. Thank you," Jaime says, pushing past the man and rushing ahead as fast as his numb feet carry him.

He steps into the entrance hall, people still recognizing him as a "guest of the House of Tarth, who shall always be welcome at this place", as Lord Selwyn had said numerous times. However, once inside… there is no welcome, except for…

Cries.

Heart-wrenching.

Loud.

Raw.

Jaime skips the stairs to where he hears the voice coming from. The knight finds a few guards and servants standing in the hallway leading to Lord Selwyn's chambers, looking afraid.

"What is this here? Where is Lady Brienne?" Jaime demands.

"In the Lord's chambers. She would not leave his deathbed since she arrived, Ser," one of them says. Jaime looks at him, "And why is no one getting her to her room?"

They look to the ground.

"You are afraid of her? Gods," Jaime cries out.

"Ser Jaime, she doesn't want to see anyone," another warns him.

"It's not about what she wants, it's about what she needs," Jaime argues.

Isn't that plainly obvious?

"She threw a knife at one of the men who dared to enter," the first one retorts defensively. Jaime is right in the man's face seconds later, " _I_ will throw a knife at you if you don't act more like a man. And you are supposed to be guards here."

He shakes his head at them, "So it seems that I will have to play the brave soldier here. Step back, you fools."

Jaime shoves the men resembling dumb fishes aside to open the old, heavy wooden door. Jaime enters to find Brienne kneeling by her dead father's bed, her hands clutching the cold hand of her father's, her face red from tears and exertion of constant crying, her features pale as a pearl without its shine.

For a moment, Jaime cannot breathe. He has never seen her like this.

"Go away! All of you! Go away!" she yells, looking like a wounded animal, blinded by pain and grief.

Jaime strides around the bed fast. He has seen her in tears, he has heard her cries, but never, _never_ did he hear or see such a Brienne. And it tears him apart.

"Go away! Leave me alone!" she cries out blindly, still not recognizing him. The world is clouded around her, a deep shadow consuming her, swallowing her as a whole.

He grabs her hands and roughly tears them away from the corpse, "Bri, Brienne, let him go. C'mon."

No, she can't let him go.

She can't.

She did once and that is why he is gone now. She let him slip away, and now his hand is cold and he will never smile at her again, will never embrace her, welcome her back home with open arms and open heart.

Brienne means to grab her father's cold hand again, but Jaime prevents her from it. He holds her by the wrists, pressing her arms against her chest, using his entire body to push her away from the dead body. He has to use all of his strength to achieve that, though. Even after hours of crying, the Maiden of Tarth is not easy to wrestle down.

"No, no, no!" she curses, now in a loud whimper. She cannot leave him. He cannot leave her.

Why did he?!

Why?!

Jaime still holds on to both her wrists, his other traveling to her head to pull her scalp into the space between his chin and his chest. She struggles against him. Jaime only holds on tighter, gritting his teeth. It makes him sick to see her like this, feel her squirming like this, shaking, trembling, collapsing.

It makes him sick that there is nothing he can do to spare her that pain.

"Bri, Brienne, c'mon, you have to calm down. Brienne!" he tries to soothe her, but she can't calm down.

She has to be with him.

She must!

"Brienne! Brienne! Now look at me. Look at me!" Jaime tries once more, forcing her head to meet his gaze. She stares through the haze of tears, making him sick.

"I am so sorry," he tells her, tears prickling against his own lashes now, too.

And at last, the fog around her disappears slightly to let familiarity back into her vision, "Jaime?"

"I'm here," Jaime breathes, glad that she finally sees him, but sad that this does not ease any of her pain. He rocks her back and forth as the tears keep coming, as her body revolts, tries to fight her father's death till last.

"My Father," she whimpers.

"I know," he nods.

"I came too late," Brienne cries.

"It's alright," he assures her.

"No," she shakes her head.

"It's alright. I'm here. You'll be alright," he keeps muttering, rocking her in his arms as she cries sapphires.

Sapphires for her father.

Sapphires for Tarth's endless seas.

* * *

After hours of crying, Brienne's body eventually gives in, leaving her a limp sack of wet flour in Jaime's arms as he holds her.

Jaime knows that he has to get her out of that room, away from the sweet scent of death, away from its cold clutches, so he scoops her long frame up in one swift motion. Brienne, too exhausted from the tears, simply lets him.

At this point he is honestly glad that he carried so many wounded soldiers in battle that Brienne's weight is no problem for him to handle anymore. The weight of her sadness makes it so much harder, though.

Once he steps outside, the men almost jump at the mere presence of Brienne, as though she was some wild animal about to viciously strike them. Jaime shakes his head.

Even now.

Even now they don't see Brienne, they only see her tall frame, only hear her roars, ignoring her cries, her fragility, her brokenness.

He pushes past them, his jaw set in a straight line. He wants to carry her off to her chambers to get some rest, to get away from Death's clutches, but he can't help but mutter as he passes them by, "Bloody ignorant wusses. What danger is she to you now, huh?"

Jaime walks on with his chin held high as he brings Brienne to her chamber and lies her down on the bed. He gets her some water, seeing her dry, chapped lips. She surely did nothing but to wail at her father's side ever since she arrived. No wonder that she is on the verge of passing out now.

"Here, you must drink, Brienne," he tells her with a soft but steady voice. She takes the cup with shaking hands and drinks a few sips.

It all tastes bitter now, even the water.

Jaime pulls up one of the chairs to sit down next to her.

"How are you here?" she brings out, her voice hoarse from the screaming. Brienne's mind slowly starts to work again.

So really, how is Jaime here, even though he is a man of the Kingsguard?

"Tyrion and Renly helped convince the King to release me from my duties for a while," Jaime explains. "So I could be here."

"You didn't have…," she means to say, but he interrupts her, "Don't. I have to, you know that."

Brienne bites her lower lip.

"... He is dead," she whispers.

"Yes, he is. I still can't believe it," Jaime exhales, running his fingers through his hair, which is still damp from the rain.

"He is dead," she repeats.

"He is dead," he repeats as well.

He is dead and won't come back.

He is gone and they are here.

Jaime holds her hand as Brienne drifts off to restless sleep – and doesn't let go even when exhaustion claims him.

Outside rages the storm.


	22. Armour and Shield

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around and for the encouraging and insightful reviews!

In response to them:

To elaine451: Thank you so much! And I know. I honestly felt bad for Lord Tarth myself. Though I will not confirm at this stage that Brienne and Jaime will use that time apart from Cersei to finally do the math.

To my friend from Argentina: First of all, I'm sorry to hear that, but thank you for the compliment. I really, really appreciate it - and I am ever the gladder that I managed in your view to capture these feelings. And yes, Tyrion is the little mastermind ;)

To the guest reviewer: Thank you very much! I hope I can keep it up, but I still have some figuring out to do when it comes to the plot line. So many ideas, so little time...

In any case, I hope ya'll enjoy the chapter ;)

Small spoiler-note (you know what to do): The whole arc of Lord Selwyn's death stretches over a few chapters, though it takes up a shorter period of time as did e.g. Jaime's and Brienne's visits when still children. It is just a pivotal point I wish to stress, or so I think and... hope.

* * *

After Brienne recovered a bit, the two find themselves seated by her massive wooden desk, hunched forward in their chairs, their hands almost brushing against each other's.

"... Maester Duvall said that it's not unlikely for men of his age to die of that condition," she grimaces. "But that no medicine could help him… and at some point… his spirits just died out, were blown out like candles."

The Maester said that her Father eventually lost his will to fight and succumbed to darkness. And Brienne had to use all of her powers not to go to her knees at this revelation. That her Father gave up – and that she wasn't there to make him stand back up, to fight a little longer. That he seemingly gave up, knowing that no one would support him during the last fight. That he gave in because he was alone.

Jaime just looks at her sadly. He saw the old Maester for only a few moments a short while back when he came into Brienne's room, after she had called for him, wanting to hear the whole story now that she was back in the here and now and ready to talk. They had gone to her father's room – and Jaime just impatiently paced up and down for her to return.

"He was fine, Maester Duvall wrote it. I told you. He was fine," Brienne says.

And foolishly, she believed these written lines.

"No one could foresee this, Brienne," Jaime assures her.

"I should have gone when I received the first letter," Brienne argues, her voice full of anguish.

"Brienne," he exhales, but she interrupts him, "He died here all alone, Jaime. My sweet Father died alone in his castle while his daughter, her head above the clouds full with dreams about knighthood and tourneys, had no better to do than to brawl in melees in King's Landing. I never should have gone there. I never should have left Tarth."

"Brienne, no," Jaime shakes his head, biting his lower lip. He already feared that she would jump to that conclusion, but he still hoped that the Maester told her convincingly the only words that matter, the only words that are right: That she couldn't have done anything to prevent this. That it wasn't her fault.

"I left him alone. I was his only child – and I left him. He always tried to do his best for me," Brienne shakes her head. "But I didn't for him."

"He was a good man, Brienne, but now he's dead, so it won't help you to ponder on the maybes," Jaime tells her.

"Right, he's dead," she hisses. It became a small mantra to her, to say it again and again. That he is dead. That he won't come back. That the last time they saw each other, they said goodbyes with ease, as though they would see each other little time from then.

Just that they didn't.

Just that she could only stare in his closed eyes, which long since had travelled some other place out of her reach.

"He wouldn't want you to blame yourself for his demise. He loved you so much, Brienne. I can't picture that he'd want this for you. He let you go because he wanted you to follow your dreams," he argues.

" _Never forget where you come from, Brienne_ ," she then says, making him frown, "What?"

"That's what my Father always told me before I left Tarth. Every time, since I was a small child. That I should never forget where I come from," Brienne bites her lower lip, not looking at the knight. Jaime looks at her with a grimace.

"He also told me when men mistreated me. To remind me that I was a daughter of the House of Tarth, someone who had power and a proud name, but I tainted that name by breaking that promise," she goes on.

Because she forgot where she come from in the face of being a sword.

"You didn't break that oath to him by becoming a sword to Renly, Brienne," Jaime assures her.

"I did, because I called myself a sword of his army then. I was his. And no longer a daughter of Tarth. Because a daughter of Tarth, a _true_ daughter of Tarth, would have been there to nurse her sweet Father once he got sick. She would have been there all the way. She would long since be married and would have grandchildren to sit on his lap to make him feel better. She would have bid him farewell with a kiss on the forehead before he had gone to the Gods. But I didn't. I betrayed him, I betrayed that promise I made to him," Brienne says, biting back tears.

"Brienne," Jaime tries, clasping her hands, but she pulls away from him, "Don't."

Jaime withdraws his hands again. He realized that after the first night of his arrival, she withdrew from his gestures of comfort. He reckons it is her way of holding up her armour at this moment, when all her defences were otherwise torn away from her by force.

"What do you intend to do now?" he asks instead.

"Arrange my Father's funeral, obviously," she shrugs.

"And after that?" Jaime questions.

"After that… There will be a lot of business to handle when it comes to his inheritance," Brienne says solemnly.

"You are his only heir," Jaime grimaces.

"But I have cousins and aunts and uncles far away who will try their best to get a tatter of my father's death robe, if not the women he had for every new year… I bet some of them will try to sell one of their children as his, as real Tarths," Brienne growls, but then goes on in a softer voice again, "My father always had them over for the festivities. Do you know why? To keep them at bay. He understood that you are faring better keeping your enemy as close as a friend than as far as one usually holds an enemy. He believed that the best way to counter the actions of bad people was to treat them with kindness."

"Your Father was a smart man," Jaime shrugs.

"He was," she agrees, biting her lower lip.

He was a true ruler, someone who mastered the arts of words, who could deal with the 'family' and 'friends' in his very own way. He knew how to keep his bad feelings from them. Brienne never mastered his trick. She can't keep her feelings of anger and resent out of her eyes. Her Father used to tell her all the while, patting her on the head, even when she was long since too old for such action, that she carried her emotions in her eyes.

"In any case, while it's clear that they are not from the main family, some of them think that lineage follows gender foremost, making a male cousin of mine a more suitable ruler of Tarth than me. And when it comes to his… romances… they will surely try to sell their bastard children off as a Tarth to somehow creep their way into my Father's castle. Now it's up to me to remind them all that there is the core and the shell, and that they are the shell of that shell," Brienne exhales.

"What about your duty to Renly?" Jaime asks.

"Well, obviously I will have to retire from my service in his army. As the only heir of Tarth left, I must… I already started a letter for him. I hope he will understand and forgive me one day," Brienne shakes her head.

She just feels like one huge mass of disappointment, mingled with tears and regrets.

"I am sure he will, Brienne," Jaime assures her.

Even though there is nothing to forgive in his opinion, but Jaime knows that for Brienne, this is yet another oath she thinks she broke.

"At this point, I'm not too sure about anything much. For that, too many promises were broken or neglected," she exhales.

"Renly made you part of his army knowing your background. He helped me to get here because he cares about you. I am sure he will understand, I am really sure," Jaime tries once more.

I am more concerned about _you_ , wench!

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asks.

"You have done enough for me. Those are things I have to handle myself. It is expected of a Tarth. You should take a ship back to King's Landing to answer your responsibilities to Crown and Kingdom," Brienne argues.

"I can wait until after the funeral," Jaime argues.

"You don't have to stay for the funeral," Brienne shakes her head. "You have responsibilities, Jaime."

"I told you, I am free to stay here for just that reason, and I want to be here to support you," Jaime argues in a soft voice.

"At some point I'm honestly afraid that you will stay for the funeral," she admits in a small voice. Jaime tilts his head at her, "Why?"

"If I see you by the funeral, I fear I won't be able to hold back my tears," she croaks. "You are the only one who… the only one who knows what I really feel. You are the only one I can't hide it from. You know that you are the only one who can tear down my armour. But for the sake of politics, what I feel is what I have to keep to myself. My family will use any weakness they can detect to their advantage, and someone lost and caught up in grief might be considered someone unfit of rule. And if they take over, they will exploit the commons."

"I could care less about these people," Jaime grunts. He well remembers how everyone looked down on her, even those who stood below her.

"My Father always wanted to know them safe. It doesn't matter how they may have treated me in the past. As a ruler of Tarth, one's oath should be to protect those under one's rule. I always wanted to serve. Even if I can't serve as a sword anymore, I can at least serve as a Lady," Brienne argues.

Jaime shakes his head. If only people saw what he sees at this very second.

"And that means that I can't have them take the rule away from me, but they will try if they detect a weakness of mine. It's all for the sake of politics now. And for the sake of politics, I must wear armour and shield now. So yes, I'm afraid that you will stay," she says, her voice quivering.

Fresh tears well up her sapphire eyes which she wipes away with her thumb, "This only proves it."

He grabs her hand again, this time he doesn't let her swat his hand away, though.

Jaime would love to tell her that it's foolish and unnecessary, but he fears that Brienne has a point. That the family will use even her grief against her to convince her of some deal to enlarge their wealth and creep closer to Tarth's castle, stomping on all the commons along the way. He saw the vermin that is supposed to be her family, he witnessed them first-hand – and they are just a bunch of foxes, waiting for a moment to strike and sink their teeth into the last heir of Tarth.

"I hate it that my sweet Father's funeral will likely become the battleground of inheritance, but my Father wouldn't ever want the Isles of Tarth to fall into the hands of these people. They will only exploit the commons and take as much of the riches as they can before they are gone again. I must defend Tarth and its people, I must now. Because my Father can no longer," she brings out.

"If you tell me to stay away from the funeral, then so I will," Jaime tells her, his voice quivering, because he hopes she doesn't send him away, but he wants to do what she wants.

It's odd, really, that he rushes to Tarth again and again, with the wish to stand by Brienne's side for marriage and funeral alike, but always ends up coming too late.

Just as odd as it seems that marriage and funeral seem to be almost the same thing.

At least they leave the same bitter taste on their tongues.

Brienne bites her lower lip. Her mind screams at her to ask him to leave, but her heart seeks the warmth of his hand, of a fleeting moment of not being alone.

"But if you want me to stay, be sure I will kick whoever in the arse who dares to extend his fangs," Jaime then says with a small smile creeping up his lips. Brienne lets out a weak laughter, but then purses her lips.

At some point, she just doesn't know what she wants anymore, other than that she wants her Father to be alive again.

"I think Father would want you there," she says at last. "He cared a lot about you."

"And you?" Jaime asks. "Do you want me to be here?"

"I think that it might be good to have someone who has my back in battle, in case my armour comes off after all," she says with the smallest of smiles. Jaime nods, honestly relieved that she doesn't push him away after all, "Always, wench."

After that they sit in silence, waiting for the enemies to arrive.


	23. Funeral

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around.

I hope ya'll enjoy this one despite the feels ;)

* * *

And so, a few days later, all of the Tarth family and so-called friends have gathered to give Lord Selwyn "the last honour", even if Jaime and Brienne know that they have no such intention. They don't care about his honour, they care about his wealth – and how much they can put in their pockets. Of course they all expressed their sympathy and condolence, shaking hands, asking Brienne if she needed any help with figuring out the papers and political issues, _especially_ the bookkeeping. Jaime never liked them, but now he really starts to hate them from the bottom of his heart.

Brienne did her best to keep up a polite attitude towards them, even though Jaime can still see the crescents in her palms from her nails digging into her flesh each time someone talks to her. She arranged for the funeral calmly, instructing the servants in a hushed, sympathetic, and steady voice that honestly amazed Jaime, and the servants seemingly the same way. After he saw her screaming when he first came here, he already feared that emotions would well up at the mere thought of arranging for Lord Selwyn's last sleep. Jaime offered to do it for her, but Brienne insisted, pointing out to him that it was her duty, and the last thing she could do for her Father.

So now they find themselves outside, by the family grave, which is situated behind the castle, near nature. At some point Jaime was relieved that it was none of the crypts in the basement, believing that this would only haunt Brienne more than does Lord Selwyn's death anyways.

The storm has ceased, though fog stands high above all guests' heads.

Brienne stands nearest to the grave, Jaime one step behind her, and she just tries her best not to get sick.

The fumes of the candles make her dizzy.

If only it rained, then it would wash the fumes away.

If only a storm came to just wash them all away.

Brienne can hear the whispers, and while they are not directed at her for once, or so it seems, it still knots her intestines in a painfully tight bundle.

She just wants to give her Father the last honours – and they already tear at his last garb in the hope to somehow get a morsel of his wealth.

Or no, _her_ wealth now.

Brienne also starts to regret the choice of garment. She wanted to follow the traditions, to foolishly please her Father in a way, by choosing a heavy velvet dress in pitch black that takes her air away. It feels tighter than any dress she ever wore, and heavier than any armour she ever carried. Brienne really wished she had chosen her armour instead. It would offer her protection now, a shield none of the gazes would get through, but now, she feels constrained while defenceless, suffocated while she freezes at the lack of protection.

Brienne watches on as her Father disappears in Tarth's soil. She tries to tell herself that he returns home, that he is going to see his beloved wife, her mother, and his beloved children, her siblings, again. That they will welcome him with open arms and that he will smile at them, happy to finally spend eternity with them. She tries to make herself believe that it is for the best, that he suffered life long enough, just as she tries to tell herself that her so-called family do not have the yellow gleam in their eyes, seeing wealth rise out of the grave he is lowered in to.

"Breathe," Brienne can hear a voice inside her head. She blinks a few times as she suddenly feels something press against her fingertips. Brienne turns her head to look at Jaime as he takes her hand, "Breathe."

And only now does she realize how much her lungs ache for air, how long she must have been holding her breath. Brienne sucks in a gasp of air, tries to take solace in that bit of warmth creeping up through her fingertips.

Her Father disappears into darkness – and Brienne wants nothing but to throw herself into the pit along with him, but Jaime's hand keeps her in place, in this world, in the grey-skyed world that holds no protection for her anymore other than that hand around hers.

The chorus starts to chant, children wail, children not her siblings, women weep, women not her mothers, not her father's true beloved, aunts mutter prayers they don't mean, uncles bid farewell to someone they wanted dead in years.

If not for Jaime and her, this whole ceremony would be a huge farce, Brienne reminds herself. All the fake tears, all the tears only filled with water and salt. All the tears not meant for him, not meant for her, all the cries of pain they don't feel, when she is the one feeling pain, stabbing, hot, deep in herself that she could scream, readily collapse into that pit.

What follows is more of a blur, and the moment her mind clears again, Brienne finds people approaching her, appearing to her more threateningly than a lynx ever could. Brienne cranes her neck.

"Brienne, dear, how are you? Can we do anything for you?" she hears one of her uncles say. The young woman looks at the seasoned man in utter bewilderment. Is he sincere? That is the same man who, upon arrival, asked how much they had in Tarth's treasury!

"I think Brienne needs a moment, Milord," Brienne can hear Jaime say, stepping closer up behind her.

"Oh, of course. But dear, just let us know if you want to talk. We are always there for you," he says, rubbing a hand over Brienne's arm, sending shivers up her spine. "The family is always there for you."

 _Always there_?!

To feast at her father's tables, stuff themselves with wine and cake – only to demand another casket of dragons to pay off debts solely they are responsible for!

Always there to hold their hands open, yes, but never there to offer a hand!

"Brienne!" a younger woman's voice rings out. She has blonde curls with a reddish tint to them, dressed completely in black, and holding a wailing child in her arms.

"Gods, what's wrong with these people?!" Jaime growls deep in his throat. They could have the piety to wait at least until the day after, by the Gods. Even Lannisters tend to show that much respect for the dead, and they don't give much on them anyways.

"I know it's utmost inconvenient, but I must sail little time from now and I haven't had a word with you yet – about my little one," the woman says with a grimace as she draws closer, too close to Brienne's liking, nodding at the baby in her arms.

" _Inconvenient_? Did you sincerely just say 'inconvenient' in a moment where Lord Selwyn is not yet covered with dust," Jaime hisses, baring his teeth at her. The woman takes one step back, but then focuses on the now ruler of Tarth again, letting out an almost mewling voice, full of sugar and honey, "Brienne."

" _Lady_ Brienne for you, there's got to be time for that," Jaime corrects her.

" _Lady_ Brienne, I beg you, it's really important. It is your sibling after all," the woman says with a sympathetic grimace that holds no sympathy.

"My _sibling_?" Brienne says at last, blowing the airs out like poisonous smoke.

"Well, you know that your dear Father and I…," she says, her voice trailing off, but that is when Brienne finally finds her voice, "Yes, I remember. How old is the little one? One and a half at best. I would actually say younger. Curiously enough my Father has not left Tarth for five years, and you haven't travelled to Tarth for the past four years. So how can that be my Father's child, my _sibling_ by any chance? That is unless you managed to do the dance through letters alone somehow?"

The woman's eyes open wide, but then gathers herself again, "I… I am sorry. I know that this is not the best of moments, but you haven't been there for quite some time, so…"

"But my Father always wrote to me regularly, and he mentioned any house guest, even those we both knew he only invited for those special reasons. He had no secrets in front of me. So unless he forgot to mention you for _some_ reason, I don't see how this would be my brother by any chance," Brienne retorts, though her voice is as flat as a sheet of paper.

"Lady Brienne, I…," the woman stammers, so Brienne takes over once more, "Or do I really have to assume that you laid with another man and now try to wrongly sell your sweet child as my Father's to get some of his inheritance? Do you know that this can be punished by law if it came to light that you make claims, wrongly so? And do you know what penalty Tarth inflicts? Or what _I_ may make Tarth inflict?"

"I…," the woman says, the air long since left her.

"Go, before I forget myself," Brienne warns her.

"You really better should," Jaime adds with a small mischievous grin. The woman almost runs away to the others. Brienne knows that this is only a small victory, and that they will try anyway, again and again and again, but for now, one predator less.

"Gods," she lets out a shaky breath.

Brienne hates politics.

And inheritances.

And them.

"Let me handle it," Jaime then says in a whisper. Brienne gives the faintest of nods as Jaime summons the Maester, muttering to him, "You will now proclaim that Brienne feels a little ill and should go to her chambers to get some rest. And that no one is to come to her room. Do we understand each other?"

"Of course," the Maester nods frantically before turning to the guests, "Dear guests, I must excuse Lady Brienne, but from shock and grief, she is very exhausted. She will now go to her chambers to rest for a while, and I would kindly ask you not to interrupt her. You may proceed to the dining room instead. A meal was prepared. Please be our guests to share stories and good spirit for our dear Lord Selwyn."

Some whisper, some shoot evil glances, but eventually all disappear from her sight and Brienne finally has the feeling that she can breathe again, a little at least.

"Finally, c'mon, let's get you to your room," Jaime grunts, pulling her all the way to the castle, his hand not leaving hers once.

Brienne sits down on her bed heavily, running a shaky hand through her damp hair.

"May I say that your family is more awful than I remembered them to? And that even though I already remember them as fairly awful?" Jaime grimaces as sits down next to her.

"I really hoped they'd wait until after this day… but then again, they don't give much on what would be honourable. They are no knights," she shakes her head.

"Truly not," Jaime exhales. "Parasites is what you call them."

"And because the inheritance will not be clarified until later, I cannot throw them out. They might be mentioned in his last will, I don't know. And that means that these _parasites_ will dine and feast under the banner of 'The Wake', though it only wakes their hunger for more," Brienne growls, her voice full of anguish.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Jaime asks, drawing circles on the back of her hand with his fingertips to somehow soothe her.

"You are doing more than enough, more than I could ever ask. I mean, you are here," she argues.

Jaime is here despite his duties to the Throne.

He is really a man against all odds.

"I want to be here," Jaime assures her credibly. Brienne lets out a sigh.

"I just want a break, from the parasites, from all this here. I can't breathe," she admits feebly.

"I noticed," he grimaces. For a moment he really feared that Brienne would just pass out because she forgot how to suck in air.

"And I don't even know why. I am usually stronger than this. I am too old for this, but...," she clenches her fists, feeling tears dancing on her eyelids.

She knows she acts more like a child than a grown Lady, let alone a knight. She wails, even though her Father died at a time others have lost their parents long since. She had him in a long time, and still, it feels as though she was wounded fatally, and left in the rain to slowly bleed out.

"Brienne, you lost your Father. It's natural that you feel like this – and you can allow yourself to be a little weak right now, even if you are much stronger than you give yourself credit for at this moment," Jaime argues. He doesn't know how she does it, but Jaime can't detect weakness at all, just deep feelings and an undying sense of honour and goodwill.

"If _your_ Father died, you wouldn't make such a scene," Brienne argues in a faint voice.

She always thought that she stood above all this, that she wouldn't weep like those geese Jaime and she made fun of when still children, but now she feels just like one of them. And it makes her sick. What happened to the woman who made it an integral part of Lord Renly's army? Who was a sword? Who almost won in King's Landing's melee? What happened to that woman? Where is she now?

"I would probably dance all day, but that is for different reasons. If it was someone I really cared about, be sure I would make much more of a scene," Jaime argues.

"I don't believe you," she whispers.

"But you can," he mutters. Brienne looks at him.

Right, Jaime is one of the few people she can trust, she almost forgot.

"If I had a chance to, I would just love to disappear, steal a ship if I had to," Brienne admits. "And never come back again."

"This is your island. You can go wherever you want – and tell the others to get lost. That is one of the few advantages you have now," Jaime tells her.

"Not for as long as the inheritance is not clarified. Until then, the parasites are everywhere I go, and I must act reasonably around them. Or else it will be a dirty fight. And I don't want a dirty fight over my Father's heritage. He wouldn't want that," Brienne shakes her head.

"No, of course," he agrees.

"But really, they are everywhere. Just this morning! One of my sixth cousins just came into my room – without knocking, imagine that!" Brienne breaks out.

"I do that all the time," he shrugs with a small smile, to which she just huffs, "I am used to that. And you're allowed to, but I never allowed them to. She just sat down on my bed and did some sweet talk, when in fact she only pictured herself in it, as Tarth's new Lady."

"Show her to me and I will accidentally pour my drink over her head," Jaime offers. Brienne shakes her head, a slight smile fading over her lips as well, but fades away just as fast, "I don't know how Father ever dealt with them. I don't know how _I_ ever did, to be honest. Right now, I just want to crush them between my fingers like ants."

"I would gladly help with that," Jaime nods.

"I feel like some stupid fool. I can usually defend myself against all this. By the Seven Hells, I was a sword for reasons," Brienne grunts.

"You are," Jaime insists.

"I don't feel like one now. I just feel pathetic," Brienne admits.

She just wants her armour back.

Jaime looks at her sadly. He never saw Brienne like this. He saw her in tears, thanks to himself, but he never saw her in grief.

"There must be some spot to go to where the parasites won't roam around. Some place secluded, where no one goes," Jaime tries to convince her.

Maybe a few moments where it's just them will help her regain some of her confidence to fetch from for the upcoming events. Brienne needs a bit of strength back, restore some of her armour for the battles still ahead of her.

"We are acting like children, trying to sneak away, don't you realize?" she huffs.

They are no children anymore, or youths. One of the most painful realizations aside from her Father's demise is that she can no longer live her immature dreams of being a knight - or of a child stealing away to escape all troubles.

"Brienne, allow yourself to take a break from the rest of the world, at least for today. That is nothing childish, that is human," Jaime argues.

And he can't stand to see you like this, so who cares if they return to childish actions for once?

"There is just one spot I know," Brienne sheepishly says after a long time.

Maybe just for today… Maybe it's alright to do it one last time, let the spark of childish actions flicker across their eyes before it's all over and they are swept away once more. Because Jaime won't stay forever, while she will. Maybe it's alright to do it, just one more time.

"One spot is enough," Jaime grins. Brienne contemplates, "It might actually serve a good cause. I promised my Father something well in advance, a small ritual I'd perform in case of his demise…"

"Then I think we'd do best leaving the parasites to their wine and cake while we take care of the ritual and you," Jaime suggests.

"You don't have to," she argues, suddenly feeling very silly and childish once more.

"But I want to," he insists. "I really do."

"There are a few things we'd have to take along," she says with the smallest of smiles.

"We have time," Jaime grins back.


	24. Cave

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around, you are such a kind readership 3

To elaine451: I suppose we all hope that Jaime would just stay with her on Tarth forever ever after. Thank you sooooo much.

As a side-note and mild spoiler (you know what to do with mini-spoilers, I think): I suppose that Brienne might be a bit ooc-ish, I don't know. I just think it might be possible, given her current situation. I still hope you'll enjoy it ;)

* * *

Jaime is surprised when he finds himself standing at the same beach of the Night of the Lynx after the two secretly sneaked out of the castle. Brienne already crouches in the sand to open the ominous pouch she grabbed before they sneaked out of the castle without anyone's notice.

"So? What do we need for the ritual?" Jaime questions. Brienne takes out a small wooden ship.

"Oh, is that yours?" he asks, recognizing the fine carving work on the sides.

"No, it belonged to my older brother, Galladon," Brienne shakes her head with the smallest of smiles.

"Did he teach you whittling and carving?" Jaime asks.

"Yes. He had a fable for ships, which is almost tragically ironic, I suppose. He loved that ship. Father had given it to him for his sixth namesday as far as I know… he decorated it with the carvings later on," Brienne grimaces. Her brother swallowed by the sea, the rest swallowed simply by Death, but in the end, she stands here all alone, well, except for Jaime, of course, and Tyrion, who is back in Casterly Rock.

Brienne then takes out two strips of lace and puts them into the ship, "Those are strips of Arianne's and Alysanne's childbed cushions. When they died, Father tore them off and kept them over the years."

At last she takes out a dried blue gentian she also places in the ship, "The flower my Father gave to my Mother to win her heart."

"Did that flower really do the trick?" Jaime asks with a small smile.

"Father said she tossed it back at him and told him to try harder the next time," Brienne chuckles softly. While she doesn't know her mother, that was one of the few stories she knows about her – and liked a lot, too. Her father always had such a shine in his eyes when he told her this story.

"You seemingly come after her in that regard," Jaime nods.

"I suppose," she shrugs.

"So, what did your Father ask you to do with these?" Jaime asks, glancing at the ship now stuffed with the item.

"Those are the only things my Father personally kept of the loved ones who went before him. He kept nothing else. Father asked me, once he grew older, to burn them after his death. He wanted these things to follow him to the next world, so he may return them to our family," Brienne explains in a faint voice. Jaime smiles softly. That sounds much like him, and is perhaps the only good part of this day.

Brienne puts a bit of dry leaves into the boat before she uses the firestones to bring forth the flame. And soon, the small boat is carried out into the waters as it burns away.

That is the only funeral she was ready for, the one she always prepared for, the one funeral she can bear with.

Brienne and Jaime watch on as the ship rises and falls with the small waves. Eventually, the light fades away in the dark blue waters.

"So? Is that the place you wanted to show me?" Jaime asks after a while, his eyes still fixed on the ocean ahead of them.

"No," Brienne shakes her head before she walks over to her pouch – and starts to take off her dress.

"My wench?" Jaime blinks at her.

"You can't reach it by foot," she explains.

Just today.

"So we are really going for a swim?" Jaime makes a face.

"That's the only way to get there," she replies as she finally feels the heavy velvet come off her skin.

"And here I thought you'd already shown me all of the secret spots of Tarth," Jaime huffs, shrugging off his jacket and tunic. He already wondered why she asked him to get spare clothes, but chose not to comment.

"One always has to keep a few secrets," Brienne shrugs as she finally opens the corset – and feels air return to her lungs, leaving her only in a loose cotton tunic with small straps and her breeches reaching down to above her knee. One should think that she would feel ashamed right now, in front of him, but at this moment, Brienne can only think of the water and nothing else.

Just one more escape, just one last time.

Jaime glances at her as her body appears beneath the dress, is peeled out of dark velvet in which mourning and grief was woven.

She takes Jaime's items and stuffs them into the pouch before she deposits the bag between two giant stones nearby.

"You don't do this for the first time, huh?" Jaime notes with a bit of amusement.

"I've done that numerous times – and no one ever knew where I went," Brienne nods. She then walks into the cold water, finding the small prickles of needles against her skin soothing, feeling the tears and dread being swept away from her body.

Jaime watches her plunge into the sapphire blue waters. At some point he is honestly confused, because, inside his mind, he envisioned the boyish body he knew from the former days, the body that looked just like his, but this is… a woman. Tall and… statuesque.

And she moves as gracefully as he only remembers Cersei to do it, as though she was a wave, no hint of her otherwise mannish walk.

"Why?" he asks silently as he starts to walk into the water as well. Brienne turns around to him, "Huh? If not, there wouldn't be anything to discover anymore."

He follows her into the water wordlessly, not even feeling the cold against his skin. They swim in silence along the coast, until they reach the giant cliffs of Tarth, imposing monuments of nature itself.

"So? Are we going to stay here?" Jaime asks, craning his neck at the huge cliffs. Brienne took him for a swim here more than once when they were still children, so he doesn't see how this is a great hiding spot.

"No," Brienne replies, swimming further, Jaime right after her. She guides him to a giant crevice, well-hidden between the huge walls of stone. One has to swim right in front to see them. From the top of the cliffs, there is just massive stone.

"We have to dive. There is a hole to slip through," Brienne says, nodding at the dark water below them.

"Show the way, I'm right behind you," Jaime replies.

Brienne sucks in a deep breath before she disappears in the sapphires of Tarth. Jaime follows her wordlessly once more, diving through the hole carved into the stone beneath the surface. He slips through and pedals up, sucking in fresh air at last. Jaime runs his hands over his face to bring the water out of his eyes. It takes him a moment until he can see clearly again, but once he does, he gazes at a giant version of her armour. The cliffs formed a hole, a tube almost, reaching up so high that Jaime can't tell where the top is. He only sees the beam of light coming down on them like a halo almost.

The perfect protection.

A place untouched.

Brienne manoeuvres onto one of the stone banks to slide up on it, letting out a sight. It's been a long time since she has last been here, but Brienne instantly feels at home again, and oddly safe, because she knows that no one will come here. This is her place beside the battlefield, even if… the battlefield is her home no longer, so perhaps this will be her one escape for all times after all.

For the first time in felt ages, Jaime can see her features relax.

"Tarth never ceases to amaze me," he marvels, still looking around.

"I found it by chance when still a child. I was looking for a place only for myself, and when I dove through the water… I discovered this here," Brienne says, her voice no more than a whisper.

"How comes you never took me here before?" he asks, still swimming around to take it all in.

"I told you, one has to keep certain secrets," Brienne shrugs.

"It's really nice here," Jaime nods.

Brienne leans her chin on her drawn-up knees, appearing so much younger and fragile in Jaime's eyes, "At some point I would just like to stay here. Then I wouldn't have to talk to them anymore. Shall they take the rest of Tarth, for as long as they leave me this spot here, and enough food and beverage to survive."

But she know she can't and that she won't.

"And give in to the parasites? That's not like you," he argues.

"I don't feel like myself anyways," Brienne admits.

"You are grieving his loss, Brienne. That doesn't just disappear because you want it," he argues, swimming closer to her.

"Trying to pretend that we are youths again doesn't help it either," she argues.

Why did she go here again?

She is really acting ridiculously – stealing away with her best friend to go for a swim while her Father is under the earth for no longer than a few hours' time.

Brienne draws her knees up further to her chest.

"You are less tensed and you don't cry anymore, wench, that means it does help in some way," Jaime argues simply. "Whatever helps you is proper means to my understanding."

"Just that it's not," Brienne argues.

"Since when do we give anything on social conventions, wench? And anyways, those parasites behave awfully, not you," Jaime assures her. "Furthermore, no one sees us just now, so what do we care?"

"Just because people don't see doesn't mean it doesn't take place," Brienne retorts, though her voice doesn't sound like fight, it is merely a sigh.

Shadows don't undo our actions, they merely hide them, Jaime knows.

"Sadly not," he agrees solemnly, suddenly reminded of his own shame.

And Brienne, the good person she is, believes that she does something wrong by sneaking away from something that means her nothing but harm, sneaks away from people who want her nothing but harm. If only she knew…

"I suppose I should have shown more political ambition instead of chasing a knight's life, then I would know better how to deal with all that," Brienne mutters.

"I reckon I can't help with that much. I was told the same thing. I lack any such ambition whatsoever," Jaime huffs.

"Well, you are in the Kingsguard, so it's actually good that you don't have such ambition. I, as a daughter of Tarth, now ruler of Tarth… should have some ambition. How else am I supposed to handle things here?" Brienne argues.

"I really wished for you that you wouldn't be forced through that," Jaime grimaces sympathetically. He knows that this is not the life Brienne ever wanted, at all, and now she finds herself in a situation where she is really completely alone to rule Tarth.

"So do I… because that would mean that my Father would still live – and the parasites would just be nightmares that would disappear if I just… pinched myself hard enough," she grits her teeth as she pinches herself in the arm hard, and harder.

"Hey, you'll leave bruises," he winks at her, but then frowns. "Now seriously, you'll hurt yourself."

He slides on the stone edge to reach her, "Brienne."

Jaime puts his hand on hers as he slides down next to her, and finally she releases her grip on herself.

"That will really leave a huge bruise for sure," Jaime grimaces, running his hand over her already colouring skin a few times.

"Did you ever have the feeling that you are no longer yourself?" Brienne asks, looking up to the beam of light to make colours dance before her eyes.

"Do you have that right now?" Jaime asks.

"I was always my Father's daughter," Brienne replies.

"And you still are," he nods.

"I don't feel like it, however. I don't feel strong. I don't feel like I always did, as though I could beat the world by beating up whoever mocks me. These here," she stretches out her hands, "don't work anymore. And that is what I used to count on."

"Maybe you should just beat them up to teach them their place," Jaime suggests. If she asked him for it… he would do it, no doubt.

"Don't tempt me, because I might if this carries on. Their mere presence is an insult to my Father's legacy," Brienne grits her teeth.

"Well, but after the issues of inheritance are cleared up, you can send them to the Seven Hells," Jaime offers.

"Just that I have to act differently around my family. I can insult my Father's whores as I please, no bother, but I have to keep my family close, whether I like it or not," Brienne argues.

And that is also what she hates about politics: That a name suddenly makes that much of a difference to predetermine how you have to act around another person. He or she can be vile and spiteful to the core, but for as long as they bear a good name, you must greet them, kiss their hands, and pretend that they are fair and good when in fact they are rotten from the inside.

"But why?" Jaime grimaces.

"They are Tarth's only last chance," Brienne shrugs simply.

"What now?" he frowns.

"At this moment, I am the sole heir of Tarth. If I don't find myself a husband soon – and don't manage to have at least one healthy offspring, preferably a boy, then the family lineage would die out with me. And that means that once I die… they'd take over. And that means I have to carefully select who is the least rotten apple of the Tree of Tarth," Brienne explains in a kind of clarity that leaves Jaime's hairs standing upright.

He didn't even think about that until just now.

And there it is again.

The shackle Jaime knows Brienne always tried to run from, but never managed.

And now, in a situation of pure personal loss has she to bother about these things, when in fact all Brienne is probably capable of at this moment is to mourn her Father's loss, they rattle in the distance.

"That's not how I envisioned my life," Brienne shakes her head.

"That's not how I wanted it for you either," Jaime agrees solemnly.

"I just thought that I'd have… a bit more time, to be a sword, to be…," Brienne looks up, fidgeting for the words, and Jaime completes, "You."

"Yeah," Brienne breathes, fresh tears dancing over her eyes. Jaime just looks at her.

She seems so broken, so fragile, so small all of a sudden.

Without armour.

Without shield.

Without any means to dry her tears.

And it makes Jaime sick.

Brienne slips back into the water, allowing herself to drift on her back and for the setting sun to blind her, hoping that the light will wash away these thoughts, and by any chance this reality just now, and leave behind a more bearable one.

Jaime watches her. He has never seen her like this, never _perceived_ her like this. They swam in Tarth's waters before, as children. They spat salt water in each other's faces. They dived in search of oysters and seashells – and some magical sea creatures along the way. But not once did he see Brienne as this graceful, fragile thing that he sees now in front of him, staring at the sunlight, bathing in it. In the light, her edges are all smoothed out, soft, shining.

And Jaime hates himself for marvelling at this, at her and her brokenness. Because that very rupture within him is actually what tears at his soul, too. He should not marvel at her pain, or rather, what the pain does to her or him.

Still, his body moves despite the conflict boiling deep within him as he gets into the water as well. Jaime swims over to her so that his head is over hers, his mind suddenly a blank slate, as though someone just doused the candle inside his head.

Brienne forces her eyes back open to look at him, at the one person who remained of her former life, her formerly good life. If only she could keep him close to her, then maybe this whole situation would be a bit more bearable.

Back when Jaime left after their secret kiss, she still had her father to hold on to, to cover up Jaime's absence, but when he leaves this time… there won't be anyone to soothe her loneliness.

She will be alone.

Jaime glances at the sapphires he is so familiar with, which shine ever so brightly as the sun cascades in them, shining like a million stars all at once.

"What?" she asks with a small frown as he comes into her vision.

"Would you ever believe me if I said that you are beautiful?" he whispers, drops falling from his hair-ends onto her forehead and cheeks.

"No?" she lets out a small chuckle as she twists around to take the same position as he.

What has gotten into him?

"Why?" Jaime asks in a faint voice.

"I've heard that sentence in mockery too often – and I've seen my face in the mirror. And these days I'm especially ugly, weary, gifted with tear-dimmed eyes and skin with red blotches from the girlish crying. Even sapphire blue water doesn't wash that ugliness away. I should know, I tried in years," she argues with a sad smile.

Brienne knows that she doesn't meet conventions, she doesn't meet social or aesthetic expectations, she is always a thing that is alien, something others cannot really put. And perhaps that is her problem – that she can't fit in, can't occupy a single place and stay there, can't be the person others expect her to be, because she cannot move out of her own ugly, freckled skin. That is what keeps other people at a distance, except for the three people… now two… who see past all that and care about her regardless of her nature.

She is not beautiful, she is not normal – and Jaime knows that, so why does he ask her such a thing?

Jaime cannot pinpoint the exact motive that leads to his action. If it is the late realization of a woman's beauty whom he failed for all his life to truly recognise as such. If it is the mere and sheer need to offer comfort to his one true friend. If it is a ghostly thought of Cersei dancing over his mind, unconsciously so. If it is his own remorse over Lord Selwyn's death, of the one man he would have dared to call Father if he had been allowed to. If it is his utter helplessness, not knowing how else to offer comfort, when it was the only thing he could offer to someone like Cersei, for instance, the only comfort she ever accepted. Or if it is something boiling back up after it slept ever since his last night on Tarth when he was here with Tyrion, a youth, a man in the making, who didn't know what a kiss could mean.

Whatever motive led to the action, however, Jaime can now feel his lips pressing against hers, his body holding on to her to allow no distance between them. He can taste salt water. He can feel her damp forehead pressing against his. He can inhale the scent he is as familiar to as he is to Cersei's. He can feel her fingers ghosting over his back, fingers that should be rough, but are soft. He feels her muscles tense but still pressing against him, needing. He can breathe her in and out as she inhales and exhales into his mouth. And he wants to get lost in these sensations. He wants to get lost in that cave.

Brienne consumes the warmth of his lips with desperation and need – because this warmth gives her the feeling that she is not alone after all. That her being unconventional, alien, and ugly don't always matter, don't matter at this very second. She tries to get lost in the tenderness of his touch, which is still the same as it was years ago when both took it for no more than a goodbye kiss, a way of making sweet little promises of a life they would have spent together, had destiny not swept them to different shores.

And for a bare moment, there is just them. The world is simply swept away. Storms may rage outside this little cave, they stay untouched. For a moment, her father isn't dead, for a moment, he is no man of the Kingsguard, no brother who crossed the boundaries of familial love, for a moment, she doesn't mourn, isn't surrounded by parasites, doesn't have to answer the responsibilities as the last heir of Tarth, is not alone, is not ugly, is not alien, for a moment she doesn't have to give up on the life she wants to have but can't.

For one moment, the world stops and leaves them stranded in a place outside time itself.

However, a moment later, the warmth fades away from Jaime's lips and he can feel himself embraced around the shoulder. The young knight only stares as he comes back to the reality, of time moving forward with fast strides.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she breathes against his neck, her arms tightly wrapped around him.

She can't.

She mustn't.

For that, she cares about him too deeply.

"No one would have to know, it's just us," he argues weakly.

Isn't that what Cersei and he always said, too? That no one would have to know for as long as it's between them, for as long as they stay in the shadows? Why not this, too?

Why not in the light of this cave?

"But _we_ would know. I'm sorry that I… I shouldn't have," she argues, her voice a small whisper. She wanted to get lost in that feeling just as she wanted to get lost in that cave, in the fleeting memories of the days of their youth, when a kiss was really just that innocent as a goodbye kiss, but Brienne knows it is selfish of her and that they must not. "You have… the Kingsguard."

Jaime only hears her words in a whisper, his heart beating so loud in his ears that his whole body seems to shake with each pump of blood.

"I know that you are just trying to offer me comfort, and I am thankful for it, but you don't have to do that," she goes on, holding him as though she was offering him comfort, one hand absently running circles over the back of his head.

"What if I wanted it?" he croaks.

"You are a man of the Kingsguard. I would never make you break your oath," she breathes against his neck.

If only she knew that he broke it already.

Several times.

By doing things more forbidden than a simple kiss between childhood friends could ever possibly be, more forbidden than laying with Brienne could ever be.

But Jaime can't say it, can't move. He is caught up in her honesty, in her shining sense of honour that even the loss of her father cannot douse, an eternal flame that doesn't burn flesh but simply is a light. It's a light so bright that it blinds him, reminding him of his place in the shadows ever the more.

And still… Jaime can't help but marvel at her. Brienne would never pull him into the darkness, into the shadows. She is seemingly incapable of it.

Just as she is incapable of seeing the shadow behind him. She still sees him as some knight in shining armour, living by the codex they always wanted to live by when still children, when in fact he long since gave up on that virtue.

She is the honour he is not – and that is the virtue of her beauty.

And so Jaime finds himself leaning his head against hers, now getting lost in a touch lacking any hot-boiling passion whatsoever, but a touch that is so full of care that it leaves him in a tremor.

Brienne holds on tightly as the tears return to her eyes. She cannot do that. Jaime is a knight, her knight who saves her from loneliness, who stands by her in her darkest hour. She cannot make his oaths the sacrifice for her feelings of regret and grief. She cannot keep him here. She cannot keep him from becoming the man she knows he can become, the shining knight she sees in him.

They hold each other close for a long while, in a strange kind of dance in the water, forgetting time itself once more, one last time, allowing it to sweep them away.

When they leave the small hideout, emerge from the water, get dressed, and return to the castle, they don't say a single word.

And in the distance, a small ship sinks into the endless sea and simply disappears.


	25. Forgetting

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Welcome back to my world of shameless JB-fangirling!

In reply to my marvellous reviewers:

To Coque: Thank you! Once again, I can only rely on online translations. I hope your tears have dried by now. I must say that I didn't keep exact track on their age. In this chapter they should be roughly around the age of 18-20. Something like that. Once again, I gave AU warning also for that reason, since my focus is on the relationship, really. Hm, jealous Jaime might be something you will get to see, but I won't spoiler too much at this point ;)

To elaine 451: Thank you so much! I, too, bear the hope that I will write them such an ending, but one can never know ;)

This chapter is supposed to serve as a kind of transgression, more plot thereafter in the next chapter.

Mini-spoiler (don't like, don't read): I suppose that some of you hoped that I'd make it happen right there already, but I still have so much DRAMA to write out that I can't just stop right here.

In any case, I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter.

* * *

"You and I both know that you have to return to King's Landing," Brienne exhales as she sits with Jaime in her chamber, their faces barely visible in the small candlelight. After what happened in the cave, life has been at a sort of liminal space, caught between the reality of the near future, and the longing for the past they left in Tarth's blue waters.

The odd thing, perhaps, is that neither one withdrew out of embarrassment or fear of the other person's reaction. At the same time, they didn't come close to each other as they did in the cave since. Jaime still finds himself clasping her hand and Brienne finds herself accepting his closeness, but it never goes beyond that.

"Of course, but maybe I should wait until after the negotiations are over. Someone has to advise you so that you don't end up making foolish decisions, hm?" Jaime argues, trying to keep his voice light, though it feels like a heavy lump down his throat.

"I have Maester Duvall. He is a trustworthy man who served my Father and Tarth for a long time. He is a wise man," Brienne assures him.

"And I am not?" he argues.

"You are most definitely not wise, no," Brienne shakes her head, amused.

"So you think I'm stupid," Jaime grunts in disappointment.

"You are often enough… but I mean to say that you are smart, just not wise. That comes with age, I suppose. I'm not wise either. It'd be so much easier for people like us if we were wise already. Then we'd know what to do or how to feel," Brienne mutters, puckering her lips.

If only she was a wise woman who knew how to deal with the turmoil raging within her body.

If only she was wise enough to simply let go instead of holding on to the hand still extending to her.

"Do you think you'll be alright?" Jaime asks with pure sincerity in his voice.

One word from her, and he would stay.

"I suppose I would have to lie if I were to give a definite answer. I don't know. You witnessed it first-hand, this affects me more than it maybe should," Brienne grimaces. "But in either case, it is nothing you can help me with, Jaime. Those are the battles I have to fight now – and you have to fight yours in King's Landing."

"So you want me to go," Jaime makes a face.

"I want you to do what is your obligation, what is your oath. You helped me more than words could ever say, Jaime, but now it's time for you to… go home, return to your life," Brienne tells him in a soft voice.

Because this here is not yours.

"It might well be that we will never see each other again," Jaime argues.

"That's what we said the last time, too, and still, we fought each other amidst a melee," Brienne breathes, glancing out the window.

"So you think we should let fortune decide? The Gods?" Jaime grunts dismissively, not liking the thought to let those nebulous creatures handle their fate in their name.

"Don't they always?" she shrugs.

"And you're sure?" Jaime asks once more. Brienne takes his hand this time, offering a small smile, "I am sure. My place is here now again. And your place is King's Landing. We both must follow our oaths. They are the most important thing after all."

More important than a kiss, a cave, a chance of in-betweenness and escape.

Jaime looks at her, letting out a heavy sigh. As much as his heart is begging him to forget his oath, he knows he cannot, just as he knows that Brienne wouldn't want him to either.

Sometimes he wished oaths weren't that important, or rather... sometimes he secretly wished that he didn't make that one oath, but then again... that was what Brienne always admired him for, and Jaime wants her to continue to admire him for that, or at least not to look down on her.

"Then I suppose I am to return to King's Landing," Jaime whispers solemnly at last.

"Yes," she mutters.

"Maybe the Gods are with us after all," Jaime offers the smallest of smiles.

"I hope they are."

Fingers creep around each other one last time.

* * *

Jaime sails away from Tarth with a hole in his heart. However, he must return to his duties. He is a man of the Kingsguard, Brienne is right.

It's not like his presence will undo her father's absence.

Jaime understands it now, at least he thinks he does. He cannot bring Lord Selwyn back, he cannot undo her pain. The only thing he can do is to be the man she sees in him – and the way he reckons, for Brienne it really is the one way she still has to live a knight's life, if only through him.

And maybe he can become the man he saw reflected in her sapphire eyes, if he works hard enough, doesn't give up... does what Brienne would do.

When Jaime returns to King's Landing, he tries to sink into the responsibility of the Kingsguard. He puts all of his effort into being a knight again, the knight Brienne and he envisioned, painted with invisible colours, only for them to see, only for them to understand. He wants to be the man she saw in him, even in that cave when he let go of all of his defences and failed so miserably at offering comfort that the one to be comforted comforted him instead.

However, the deeper he dives into the responsibilities of the Kingsguard, the more he realizes how his title, his self is hollowed out, carved out, leaving him emptier than before. He is drawn in by the man he attached his oath to, imprisoned in a place without prison bars.

And soon he finds himself pulled into a darkness whose existence he was not even aware of.

A single man's madness suddenly becomes his illness.

His downfall.

His fall from grace.

And no one is there to catch him when it happens.

There is just him.

And eyes judging him.

And mouths laughing at him.

And ink written on him, to mark him with a name not his, to mark him as the man he never wanted to be. He becomes an oathbreaker.

And he fades away underneath each glance, each blotch of ink.

Just like Brienne of Tarth simply fades out of his life.

No more letters.

No more lifelines to keep him above the surface, to keep him from drowning in the shadows.

No more soothing letters of ink.

No more books.

No more caves to hide in.

No more sapphires to illuminate the way, to shed light where darkness is.

The Gods seemingly don't care about them after all.

Life sweeps them off their feet and carries them to different shores, pushing their heads underwater as they are consumed by the dark, unrelenting sea.

And when the knight of the Kingsguard finds himself at the very bottom of his own personal Hell, at the bottom of his very self, Jaime finds comfort in the arms of the one person who returned to him unexpectedly, who is his other half, filling some of his hollowness.

He gives up on what he believed in, to find a place to hide in the privacy of a chamber.

In the closeness that allows no distance.

In the closeness that leaves him mute, deaf, and blind.

He lets the shadows devour him until nothing remains of him.

He forgets.


	26. Apples

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around!

We hopped a bit further in time, just so that you know. So we are now in the post-Mad King phase.

I hope you'll like the chapter ;)

* * *

Ser Jaime Lannister glances around. King's Landing seems so dense at times. So many people to protect, so many people at the hands of their King.

Jaime exhales, watching the people passing by, going on with their lives as though nothing could happen to their little routines, and that even though he knows it takes only a single man's madness to make that happen. One man goes insane, and a city is on the verge of burning.

One man goes insane, and his world shifted out of place.

One man goes insane, and he is forever marked as Kingslayer.

One man goes insane, and he gets a look from all involved he will never forget about ever again.

Jamie tilts his head at a company of women, giggling and pointing around. Seemingly new to the city. People who are from here know that nothing about this place is as shining as it appears. Maybe some guests King Robert invited? However, Jaime can't help but frown at the beansprout standing out of the small giggling roses.

" _Wench_?" he gapes, suddenly feeling reminded of the time of the tourney, the fair, and the last time he saw his best friend truly happy.

"Ser Jaime, we wanted to…," one of the young knights under him means to say, but Jaime interrupts him, eyes fixed on the familiar-unfamiliar object not far away, "You will have to take my spot for a moment."

"But Ser," the young knight says, but Jaime already starts to make his way down the stairs. He wades through the people until he finds himself in front of the entourage of young women.

"Brienne?" he asks again, looking at the woman standing tall above them all… in a _dress_ , however. And with slightly longer hair, now all the way up to her chin, still looking more like straw, but odd on her for reasons he can't explain.

Jaime knows for sure that it must be her as the woman promptly turns around at the sound of his voice and makes her way into the crowd, trying to dive away and out of his view.

"Brienne! It's me, Jaime! Now stop already!" the knight calls out to her, swiftly pushing past the young women. "Apologies, ladies."

He catches up to her swiftly. Jaime taps her on the shoulder lightly, forcing the woman to finally turn around to him at last.

And it is her.

After all this time.

"Milady," he says politely, though there is always a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Perhaps it is really just that urge to have to relive memories to somehow remind him of the man he used to be before he was branded the Kingslayer, like you brand cattle, just that cattle probably have a better social standing than a Kingslayer, well, at least outside the palace.

Brienne looks at him for a couple of seconds, before bowing down.

Some things truly never change.

"What brings you to King's Landing?" he asks.

"It is a great pleasure to see you again, Ser. I must deeply apologize, but I have some business to attend downtown. I cannot afford to come late to my appointment," is the reply he gets, though it is not the reply he had pictured inside his head.

He thought she would smile her soft smile at him, the one she only showed to him.

He thought her eyes would shine at him.

He thought her armour would come off at once.

He thought she would reward him with a witty comeback.

He thought she would touch his shoulder, something, anything.

But nothing.

Except for that she calls him _Ser_.

"Well, I could accompany you to…," Jaime suggests.

"I must decline, thank you," she replies quickly, however.

"How about we meet up as soon as you have some free time, to talk?" Jaime tries another time. He can't let that chance slip away, can he? The chance of feeling like the old Jaime again.

"I fear I cannot. And now I must go. Maybe some other time. It is good to see you, however, Jaime. Have a good day," Brienne says, bowing another time, before ducking into the crowd and down the shadows of the streets.

Jaime stands there for a second, perplex, but then whistles loudly – and promptly one of the squires is right by his side, looking at him with a mixture of anticipation and fear.

"You said you wanted to hone your knightly skills, right?" Jaime asks, his eyes still fixed on the street Brienne disappeared into.

"Yes, Ser," the squire nods frantically.

"I have an important task for you. You see that giant woman over there, don't you?" Jaime points at the back of Brienne's head, which stands out no matter how foolishly she tries to duck from his view. The squire gives a nod.

"I want you to follow her, secretly. I need you to tell me where she goes, whom she talks to, anything that might be of interest, do you understand?" Jaime goes on. The squire nods his head frantically.

"But you mustn't be caught. If you are caught after all, she will kill you," Jaime shrugs.

"What?" the squire gapes, but Jaime just gives him a mighty push forward, "Off you go!"

Jaime turns back around to return to his spot on the castle's wall as he finds himself smiling like he did not in a long time.

The Gods are seemingly very late, but still.

* * *

Some time later the day, the squire returns, out of breath, red over both cheeks. Jaime smiles at him amused.

"Ser? I followed the lady downtown to see her entering _Carp's Inn_ by the Eel Alley," the squire says nervously. Jaime claps him on the shoulder once, "Good job, you may go, then."

The squire nods before disappearing at an instant.

Jaime is to go to the Eel Alley, as it appears.

So, the knight of the Kingsguard soon finds himself wandering through King's Landing until he can spot the inn the squire told him about. He gets inside, pleasantly surprised that the people there are seemingly too drunk already to care if he is the Kingslayer or the King himself.

He can spot Brienne in the corner furthest away from the entrance, sipping a cup of wine.

Jaime strolls over, self-consciousness rising within him, until he leans over her table with a smug grin, "Is that seat taken?"

"Yes," she replies.

"Oh well, then he shall grab another. So _that_ is the important business you have to attend?" Jaime says, pulling another stool close to sit down in front of her.

"Well yes," she replies. "My throat was parched."

"You are getting a little sluggish, you know?" Jaime teases.

"I know that your squire with freckles and auburn hair followed me to the door. Tell him that if he wants to successfully sneak up on someone, he should not stare at the object of observation with huge eyes and open mouth – and keep at least a slight distance. I could hear him breathing in my neck," she replies. "He sounds like a whale out of the water."

"I already feared you lost your edge," he chuckles softly. "I will let him know."

"Do whatever you want," she sighs. Jaime can see the tension in her shoulders reaching all the way up to her jaws, and all he can do is think back to the last time they talked before he took back off to King's Landing after Lord Selwyn died. How they promised each other that they'd see each other again, if the Gods decided to treat them kindly for once. However, that is not how he had it pictured at all.

"My dear wench, I am under the impression that you are angry with me," Jaime frowns. He honestly hoped that after the initial fight, she would be the old Brienne again, to give him the feeling of being the old Jaime again, but he gets the feeling more and more intensely that strangers are seated at this table.

And that even though they used to be so close that only salt water was between them.

"I am not. I do not wish to talk about the matter," she quips.

"If you don't talk, I will have to guess," he warns her.

"You can guess all you want, that is the game you will never win," she sighs. Jaime studies her uncertainly.

"How are you?" he asks, his voice no more than a whisper.

"How I am… I don't know, annoyed at seeing you again?" she huffs.

Is he sincere?

"I mean it seriously, wench," he grumbles.

"I've seen better days," she admits. "Or else, be sure, I wouldn't be here."

She would be anywhere _but_ here.

"Then why are you in King's Landing, _for real_ this time?" Jaime asks again, his voice softer this time.

"Giving it one last try," she shrugs, not daring to look at him.

"What?" he frowns.

"You know that I am the only heir of Tarth after my dear Father… passed away," she says, biting her lower lip. He grimaces sympathetically. It's clear that she still pains at his absence. Images of her crying, whimpering form creep back into Jaime's head, dance before him mockingly like the letters used to when he was still young.

"That means that I have to fulfil my obligation to continue the family lineage to secure Tarth and its people. Which means that I am now looking for a new betrothed," Brienne explains, more formally now, trying to put a distance between the words and what is deep within her heart.

"Isn't it usually that the men come to you, then?" Jaime grimaces. He has never heard about that custom. And for all he remembers, her father always held those balls in Tarth.

"Well, I was advised to go to another city, where I wasn't… so well known as in Tarth and its surrounding lands, where I am not directly identified as a manbeater. And it has the advantage that whatever suitor turns up will know what he gets for the bargain – so there are no unpleasant surprises or roses in the dust. King's Landing is a huge place, and holding a ball to achieve just that," Brienne replies.

Jaime grimaces. He _definitely_ didn't hear about such a ball to take place.

"Who is ruling Tarth at the moment, with you here?" Jaime frowns.

"A third cousin of mine. His name is Rogar. You may remember him from the feast, back when you were over for visit when we were roughly around twelve years of age. I think you referred to him as 'the fat ostrich'," Brienne tells him.

"Oh, that one! One ugly fellow," Jaime exclaims at the memory.

"He is not part of the main family, which is why he has no right to claim Tarth, but I am allowed to name him as my proxy for as long as it takes me to find myself a husband," Brienne goes on.

"And why did you name the fat ostrich?" Jaime frowns.

"He is one of the few family members who is not after riches, since he is well situated and lacks any political ambition whatsoever. And generally, he always ignored me instead of mocking me," Brienne replies mutely. She spent way too much time selecting rotten and molten apples, to find this one with only a worm in it. Rogar is an honourable man who enjoys the good things of life, but is trustworthy for all she knows.

And that is her life now: Sorting rotten apples.

"Why didn't you write to me that you'd come?" Jaime asks.

"I didn't think it mattered," she says, her voice and face suddenly a blank slate. Jaime stares at her, blinking furiously.

 _What_?

"You are my oldest friend, _of course_ it mattered," Jaime argues. "I would have welcomed you upon your arrival for certain."

"I could ask you the same question. Why didn't you write to me, as your _oldest friend_?" she then questions, looking at him wearily.

At some point she thought that he would have at least the piety to try to look guilty. But then again... what was she thinking?

And what does it matter?

Jaime gapes at her, "What? _You_ stopped writing to me four moons after… after your father died. I kept sending letters, but you didn't reply to a single one. I thought you were just still in grief and that is why I stopped writing to you eventually. And after that, I thought you had… moved on or so."

She stares at him, "I… I wrote to you twelve moons past my dear Father's demise."

"What?" Jaime looks at her.

"I _did_ write to you – I just didn't get an answer from you," she says again, blinking repeatedly, biting her lower lip.

He didn't get them? And she thought...

Brienne's shoulders slump. Does that mean that all her rage and tears were for nothing, _again_?

Her fists clench, but then another thought sweeps back into her mind: It doesn't matter.

Not anymore.

Nothing matters, except for that one thing, and letters aren't that one thing by any means.

"Well, they seemingly got lost, then," she says in a small voice, not meeting his upset gaze.

"But so many?" Jaime frowns, still trying to wrap his head around the matter.

"How else would you explain it?" she shrugs. Jaime still stares at her.

All this time he could have had his little lifesavers… but they get lost in the mail.

Misfortune really loves him dearly.

"Then I am really sorry for never replying to your letters. I honestly thought that you did not seek contact after your loss. I was just trying to be… polite," Jaime tells her in all earnest. He thought that after the letters dried out like an old well that Brienne just couldn't bear it anymore, still overtaken by grief, not to mention the kiss they shared. He figured that maybe he read the signals all too wrong, resulting in deeper feelings of mistrust than he had anticipated while still in Tarth. Jaime thought he went one step too far, and that there was no turning back anymore.

Brienne bites her lower lip. She had a speech planned. What she wanted to throw at him, if not a fist. She wanted to be angry at him. She wanted to yell, to curse, but here they are, in a shabby inn… and all her anger melts away like ice during summer.

Brienne really wished she still had her claws and sharp teeth.

"I understand that. And you are not to blame for not replying to a letter you never received. It shouldn't matter, should it? What are written words anyways?" she sighs.

"More than I would like them to be at times," Jaime grunts.

Because in one book, there are only few pages saved for him, where ink marks him as Kingslayer forever.

"… How are you?" she asks after a while, for reasons she can't explain.

Or well, it's probably simply because she cares about him no matter what he does, because if even nothing else matters, he will always, however foolish that seems to be.

"I suppose I can't complain," he grimaces. "I don't know what you heard in Tarth."

"I heard that you put an end to the King's life. I heard that Robert Baratheon led the Rebellion and thus became the new King. And I heard that Cersei is now his wife," she says. Jaime grimaces.

She didn't use the word.

"So I suppose you can complain about some many things," she goes on.

He broke his oath.

His other half was married off before his eyes.

He has to watch it every single day for the rest of his life.

Even though Brienne is not the smartest thing, she knows, she understands that much. She understands that in that regard, both have to eat rotten apples.

"I was pardoned by King Robert, and reintegrated into the Kingsguard," he argues numbly.

"That is good for you," she nods.

And Jaime wants to bathe in that feeling of not being judged for once.

"Well, I got a _nice_ nickname now, but then again… now all people know me," Jaime shrugs with a smug grin that comes off as a poor masquerade, however. Once he glances into her sapphire eyes, he knows that she doesn't buy his smiles.

She is the only one who ever made the difference. And only Brienne cared about which smile he showed.

"I have heard that, too… but… maybe some time you will tell me what happened that day. I would rather hear it from you. It's your story after all," Brienne gives the smallest of smiles. Because he is the one apple she cannot throw away after all.

Jaime has to try hard not to stare.

He almost forgot.

It's _his_ story.

 _His_ life.

They sit quietly in the inn, no memories flooding back, simply in a stage of in-betweenness.

They bid farewell without a single touch, without a smile.

* * *

Jaime finds himself dining with his family later the day. Robert is on a hunting trip, _as always_ , and will not return before tomorrow, leaving the Lannister children to themselves.

"Brienne is back," Jaime says, his mouth wrapped around the cup of win in his hand.

Tyrion drops his fork, staring at him, " _What_?"

"Brienne, she's in King's Landing. I was honestly surprised when I ran into her today. After all, she said that she was practically invited to the upcoming banquet, of which, I may add, I was not informed either, and that even though I am a member of the Kingsguard," Jaime grimaces, his eyes turning to Cersei, who only smiles at him the way she always does when she thinks she is so much smarter than him, "Oh yes, now I remember. I am sorry that I forgot to tell you. The list is _long_."

"But surely you recognized her name," Jaime argues, making his disappointment no secret. Tyrion glances at his sister, narrowing his eyes, not sure what to make of her words or apparent actions.

"I did, but I forgot to tell you about the matter," she shrugs. Jaime grimaces, not really satisfied with her answer.

"How is she?" Tyrion interrupts, to which his older brother replies, "I am honestly unsure. She seems… _different_ , if only due to the fact that she is here to search herself a new husband."

"Do you want me to sputter on my wine that badly? You can't just drop these news all at once," Tyrion mutters, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Brienne shows up again. And then she is looking for a husband on tops. Gods!

"Well, she told me that this is what the ball is all about, isn't it, Cersei?" Jaime asks.

"Officially, it is also to celebrate the good harvest this year, but yes, for many young or no longer so young women it is one of the few chances to find herself a man to marry, or at least… build up some connections for the matter," she nods, sipping her wine.

"Well, then I will see Brienne the first chance I get," Tyrion says.

"During the conversation with her I also had to learn that she had written to me, but that none of the letters reached her, just as hers didn't reach me," Jaime goes on. "I reckon the same is true for you."

"That would explain why she did not reply to any of my messages," Tyrion grimaces.

"Well, don't you find that curious?" Jaime asks, his eyes back on Cersei, who says, "Maybe the ravens were all ill, how would I know?"

Jaime resumes to eating his meal in silence, though his appetite long since left him.

* * *

"Why are you having Brienne over for that ball?" he asks later when in her chambers.

"What? Because she is an old friend of yours, and I wanted to help her. Is that so wrong?" Cersei retorts.

"It's no secret that you never liked her," Jaime argues.

"Jaime, she lost her dear father, tragically so. I am just helping out a woman in need," Cersei insists.

"You make it appear as though this was the only way for her," Jaime shakes his head. Because he still doesn't want to, in fact can't, believe that this is the status quo now. That Brienne simply has to marry now, no matter what, that she is forced into a life she never wanted to live, especially if that means that she has to wear dresses and be a shadow of herself.

She is the sole heir of Tarth. She should rule however she pleases.

"Because it _is_ , Jaime. She is ugly. She is getting old, which surely does not help her looks in any significant way…," she rambles, but he interrupts her with a low hiss, "Careful now."

"What? She is no beauty, let's not pretend. She is not applying to the social conventions either," Cersei goes on.

"She is unconventional," Jaime shrugs.

That's what he always liked about her best.

"Tarth might be wealthy, but not very wealthy, to the degree that a real noble house would seek her hand for the sake of political power," Cersei goes on. "Not to mention her reputation as a manbeater, especially around the area of Tarth."

Jaime grimaces. He knows that this certainly scared many men away, well, except for Tyrion and him.

"Furthermore, for all I know, not all are happy with her political course, especially her family," Cersei goes on.

"And how would you know about these things? I don't, and I am her friend," Jaime argues.

"I didn't write to her, obviously, but I know people who know people who know people around the area," Cersei gestures with her hands dismissively.

"And you didn't think about informing me?" Jaime asks in a low growl.

"You said yourself that you have no political ambition. And in any case, it is just rumours," Cersei shrugs.

"Then what is wrong with her political course?" Jaime frowns. "According to these rumours."

"It's people-oriented, or rather _common_ -oriented," Cersei replies with a roll of her shoulders.

"And how is that a bad thing?" Jaime tilts his head.

"She makes Tarth a political vacuum. Many merchants complain that she no longer seeks to invest in trading routes and even broke off some long-since established business ties. And I know from my dear husband that Tarth, in times of the Rebellion, didn't raise its banner very high, if at all, which surely comes as a surprise since it is ruled by someone who used to call herself a sword," Jaime's sister snorts.

"But what do you mean with common-oriented?" Jaime frowns. Cersei rolls her eyes at him, "Your lack of political ambition is really tiring. What I mean to say is that her sole interest lies in arranging internal matters with the commons. They are probably glad about it that she does her best to please them, but the rest of her family will surely not like it, since she is apparently not afraid to take something out of the give to the commoners if needed."

Jaime frowns, but then has to force a small smile. To be honest, that was the way he always expected Brienne to rule: Keeping her father's legacy in mind, and protecting the commons of Tarth no matter the costs - and to kick the parasites in the arse on any given occasion. Not to mention that Brienne never wanted to be a politician, so it stands to reason to him that she tries her best to keep out of political affairs. Politics are messy and corruptive.

And Brienne, wanting to serve her people, will do anything to keep them from corruption.

She is a ruler who is sworn sword to her people.

Even if Jaime doesn't understand much about politics, he can't see the bad in such a rule.

"Well, then what do other people care what she does with her lands?" Jaime argues.

What does Cersei want with her?

"Tarth could be a fruitful pivotal element of trading routes because of its relative distance to King's Landing, Storm's End, and across the Narrow Sea to Pentos and other surrounding areas. Father kept close to Lord Selwyn for those reasons already, or do you really think he was personally interested in either one of the two Tarths?" Cersei replies. Jaime lets a sigh, no, that man surely bore no affection for Lord Selwyn or Brienne. She goes on, "Perhaps it is really just her apparent inability to handle such business, I don't know. I just know that Tarth could contribute to Westerosi trading a lot more if she didn't make Tarth a capsule. And that is also why she needs a husband by her side, someone who can open up that vacuum again. Or did you really think that she would get through with it till her last days to die an old maiden?"

Jaime bites the inside of his cheek, not liking any of this, at all, and liking it even less since he didn't know about any of this, while his sister seemingly did.

"So she has to marry quickly and preferably someone who is not as bloody idealistic as she is, because that is the only way for Tarth to unfold its capacities again," Cersei goes on. "And that should have happened in a long time already, but it didn't."

Jaime studies Cersei, but fails to read her expressions. At some point, he just always has the feeling to stare at a wall he can't get past, not even when he lies right next to her, unlike an armour, because an armour... you can take off. To tear down a wall takes much longer.

"So coming here is one of the few chances she has to find herself a suitable husband. And one can only hope for her that she sells herself better than she did previously. After all, Brienne of Tarth has only three advantages," Cersei says, gesticulating.

"Which are, in _your_ opinion?" Jaime cocks an eyebrow at her.

Because he knows a million.

"She bears her family's name," Cersei begins.

"Yes," Jaime nods.

"She owns the Isles of Tarth now, even if I may add that the issues of inheritance weaken even that advantage. It's tiresome business to silence uncles and aunts and strumpets alike – and that is something not many future spouses want to dig into," Cersei goes on.

"And the last advantage?" Jaime exhales wearily, not liking this kind of conversation at all.

"She still has her maidenhead, for all we know," Cersei says simply. Jaime bites the inside of his cheek.

"Taking these three advantages together, she only has one chance – and that is to marry, because that is the only market valuing these 'goods'. Knowing this, and knowing your affection for her, I wanted to offer her a hand – and that is why I invited her," Cersei explains.

"That is not the life she wants," Jaime insists.

"But that is the life made for her. Trust me, Jaime, I know what I'm talking about. We women don't get to choose. In the end, we are married off to someone who only wants to claim us, who fucks us if he needs it, and otherwise is gone for hunting trips. That is the curse of our sex. Brienne, as much as she tried to fight it for all her life, is no exception," his twin sister argues.

"She was a knight, she still is," Jaime insists.

Is he telling that Cersei?

Or himself?

"Only for a counted number of days, Jaime, and in the end… merely a sword, but no sworn knight. It's not that I blame you that you don't understand, because you are a man, but we women are made painfully aware of the circumstance that this is what binds us in the end. You should be glad for her that she understood that lesson by now," Cersei tells him.

"Why?" he grimaces, suddenly hearing echoes inside his head of Brienne telling him about Humfrey Wagstaff and his attempt to teach her "a woman's place".

"As I said, she doesn't get younger, and her womb doesn't either. The longer she waits, the less chances she has – to marry _and_ to have offspring. So it's better that she tries now to marry into a good family to secure her lands – and her lineage – rather than later. Once even her youth has left her, the Tarths will die out, like an old tree without water," she says darkly. Jaime just stares, letting the information seep through his skin like saltwater.

He almost jumps when he feels her hands on him, "Are you getting undressed or do I have to do all the work? Robert will return tomorrow. We only have tonight."

"I am not in the mood," he says, pushing away from her.

"Are you still mad at me for forgetting to mention to you that she would come? Jaime, I am a busy woman, now Queen. _Excuse me_ if your little childhood friendship to the tart is not at the very top of my priorities. So you either get undressed now, or you can leave," she hisses.

Jaime goes without another word, leaving Cersei dumbstruck in her chambers.


	27. Helplessness

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around!

To elaine451: Thank you so much! I hope that I can give you what you kindly ask me for, though I can't promise that it'll happen right away ;)

* * *

Tyrion uses the first chance in the morning to get himself into the game he knows his sister is already busily digging her sharp nails into.

The first thing to do in such a situation? Check on your allies.

So he seeks out Brienne, and of course he seeks her out for the much more personal reasons as well. Only the Gods know how dearly she missed him, and how much dearer she missed her to be around his older brother. While he might be the younger of the two Lannister sons, it doesn't take a Maester's mind to see that Brienne of Tarth was the one relationship that kept Jaime from corruption. In fact, Tyrion still considers Brienne the best thing that's ever happened in Jaime's life, and likely his own, too, which made her loss over the years ever the harder.

And now it turns out that the mails were lost.

Curious.

He knows by now that Brienne arrived with an entourage of the so-called _family_ , young women who are also supposed to be married off like a bunch of cattle, really, and that they reside in the guest wing of the palace. He is still more than irritated that this happened without his notice, but then again, you can't look out for something you don't know the shape or appearance of, especially if it comes in the form of a bunch of giggling geese.

Tyrion finds Brienne in one of the hallways of the Red Keep, wandering alone. It really takes him a moment to recognize her in that dress and with the hair... and that walk that makes his wonderful giantess appear at least five inches shorter.

"My dearest Lady of them all! It's so good to see you," Tyrion greets her cheerfully. Brienne tears her gaze away from the ground to meet his eyes, flashing an honest smile, "It's good to see you, too, Tyrion. It's been far too long."

"I agree, I agree," he nods. She bends down to embrace him. At first she is a bit hesitant, but then holds on a bit tighter than she normally would. Tyrion pats her on the shoulder blade with a small smile. Brienne eventually pulls away. The two look at each other, letting out a sigh.

"Milady, care to accompany me for a while?" Tyrion offers. "It's so lonely around here, especially since there is not a single interesting person to talk to anymore."

"What about your family?" she chuckles softly as she gets back up and the two start to walk.

" _Please_ , we both know my family," Tyrion rolls his eyes. "And they are hardly interesting at all."

Brienne says nothing.

"Jaime told me that his letters were lost. I fear that mine were, too?" Tyrion goes on, keeping his tone purposely light.

"It seems so," she shrugs her broad shoulders.

"That is a great pity," Tyrion exhales.

"Well, we see each other now, so it's alright to me," Brienne offers.

"I rather see you in person than hidden behind letters, I can only agree," Tyrion nods. "I already feared you took it in a bad way and were left under the impression that we forgot about you, which couldn't be further from the truth, I may add."

Brienne licks her lips, "Of course not."

Both know it's a lie at an instant.

"We did not, I assure you," Tyrion tells her credibly.

"Jaime said the same thing. I suppose I gave him a rough time even though he didn't deserve it. None of you can help it that the letters were lost," Brienne exhales.

She is just done apologising all the time, because that is what she does for so long now.

And that even though she wanted to live a life without regrets when still young.

But there are many things she regrets now, too many to the count.

"Oh, you can never give my brother too much of a rough time. He _always_ deserves it," Tyrion snorts. Brienne smiles at him faintly. From the corner of his eye, Tyrion can see his dear sister approaching. He leaves a hand the side of Brienne's leg to push her into the next hallway, subtly so.

"So now, how about you tell me of your voyage for a while? We have so much catching up to do," Tyrion tells her with an encouraging smile.

He would rather keep his sister away from her for as long as he can.

She is only up to trouble.

And trouble is the last thing Brienne needs.

Tyrion just hopes that he is still good enough in the game to cover up for his late introduction into the game.

But then again, it doesn't matter how you started a game, it only matters that you win, or rather... you have to make sure that the others lose.

And Tyrion surely wants to see his sister losing.

* * *

Later the day, Tyrion invited himself into his older brother's chamber. Jaime actually wanted to seek out Brienne, but the dwarf simply shut the door and told him to sit down with him.

"So… I reckon you talked to her," Jaime grimaces.

"I did. I'm personally not too sure about the new hairstyle," Tyrion puckers his lips. "She is different."

"Yes, I mean… dress aside, hair aside… she… she has a different aura about herself," Jaime shakes his head. "I didn't even recognize her at first. Of course I knew her by the looks, but… she's changed so much."

And he wants nothing but her as she used to be.

"She loved her father dearly. Some people change if they lose someone that important to them," Tyrion shrugs.

"That's not it. That is what I always understood, but… I just always think back to the time of the tourney. How she shined," he exhales. Tyrion studies him, seeing the flash of adoration in his brother's eyes.

Jaime can only think back to the last time she came to King's Landing, how she radiated happiness and pride, how complete she seemed back then, until she was fragmented again, leaving her in pieces scattered around herself, shards resembling parts of her, others reflecting what used to shine bright only in dim candlelight. A heap of shards instead of a whole in an armour.

"You saw her. I rarely saw her that happy… and then I saw her at her personal rock bottom after Lord Selwyn passed away… and now… now she is just… _hollow_. I rather have her sad than this," Jaime shakes his head.

She is too much like him, really. Jaime is hollow, but he deserves it, because he carved himself out over the years, let the shadows surrounding him carve out all of him, but Brienne had nothing to do with that process. _Others_ took pieces of her flesh and left her hollow. And that is what makes him nauseous.

"Well, she is filled with one thing, though," Tyrion grimaces, to which Jaime only agrees solemnly, "She is only driven by her craze to fulfil her assumed duty of finding herself a husband, yes. That is her sole purpose now."

"She mentioned to me that in her Father's last will it said that she should continue the family lineage. As far as I understood, she is the sole ruler of Tarth, but if she cannot conceive an heir before it is too late for her to have children, steps will be taken to substitute one from the relatives who is with children to take over in her stead," Tyrion nods.

"I can't imagine that Lord Selwyn would do that," Jaime grimaces. He just has to think back to Lord Selwyn's face full of adoration for his daughter, the kindness in his eyes, the warmth of the fatherly embrace he has always known from him and not his own father.

"He was very eager in continuing the family lineage, as much as he loved Brienne. Let's not forget that he tried to marry her off three times," Tyrion argues.

"Brienne always wanted to be free of these shackles, and now she practically begs to be chained up – even if that means to get into contact with Cersei again, though we all know that those two only share their hatred for each other," Jaime grunts.

"Well, frankly speaking, Brienne has no other option but to marry, Jaime," Tyrion says, much to the older brother's shock, "Now you sound like Cersei."

He expected Tyrion to be on his side, on Brienne's – and not on Cersei's. Everyone seems to believe that this is acceptable now because Brienne gave in to this life, but Jaime knows her. He knows that this is not the life she wants to live, even if she tries to make herself believe that this is what she wants at this moment.

He saw the blank expression on her face.

He saw the spark that faded out of her sapphire eyes, as though someone blew the candles out.

"Because _that_ is the political perspective at this point, and in that I must follow Cersei, as much as I hate it. Brienne has no chance but to marry, whether we like it or not," Tyrion argues with a grim expression.

"She could…," Jaime means to say, but the younger brother interrupts him before he can get to it, "She could _what_? Join a Kingsguard to escape the shackles of marriage?"

"For instance?" Jaime shrugs.

He would vouch for her if he knew that she would agree to the plan. He would ask Robert to let her into the Kingsguard. By the Gods, he would kneel in front of him and beg the arse if that meant that this blank expression was wiped out of her face again.

"Even if that worked _somehow_ despite her sex… To what result would that be? She would lose her beloved father's lands to her cousins or the wenches he has bedded over the years. I told you. There is Lord Selwyn's last will after all. And do you really think Brienne would let that happen? She's too honourable for that," Tyrion argues sternly.

Jaime bites his lower lip, not liking it that Tyrion is sinking his ships. Because deep down, he knows that the younger Lannister is right. Brienne already showed that during the funeral. She wouldn't ever let anything happen to her father's inheritance, to her father's legacy, even if that killed her. And from what he gathered from his conversation with Cersei, Brienne is definitely too honourable to just leave her people to their fate, or rather the fate the parasites would expose them to if they were to rule Tarth in her stead.

"So that is no option. What else? Oh, right, she could deny her name and run away… which would lead to the same situation," Tyrion tilts his head to the side.

Jaime grimaces. His younger brother offers a somewhat sympathetic look as he goes on, "She has no other option but to find herself a suitable husband. Under the premise that she seeks to secure her family lineage, this is all she has left, Jaime, accept it. Because she already did."

"I just can't bear the thought that she marries some obscure fellow who might well mistreat her. Her last betrothed was made just of that stuff," Jaime argues vehemently.

"Well, the only way to bypass that would be if you married her," Tyrion shrugs, folding his hands over his belly.

"Which contradicts my oath to the King," Jaime huffs. He can't be sincere, can he?

"Oh, yes, _that_ ," Tyrion snorts. "Since you take that oath oh so seriously."

"Careful now," Jaime narrows his eyes at him.

And for the briefest of moments, he finds himself in Tarth's secret cave, and how he vowed to himself and Brienne that he would be the man she saw in him, and would not become the man that he is now – an oathbreaker.

"I am not talking about the Kingslayer. I'm talking about the Queenlayer," Tyrion retorts. Jaime breathes hard, trying to contain his anger, but his younger brother is unimpressed, "You can deny it. You can slap me now or whatever else, but it won't change the circumstance that this is the case. You didn't act truthful to that oath in that regard. So could we stop pretending that it is absolutely unthinkable that you could break your oath in a way that is, in my opinion, much more virtuous than what you do hidden in Cersei's chambers?"

Jaime chooses not to comment.

The truth hurts more than the lies at times. In fact, it leaves him breathless.

"So, since you can't marry her and since she can't join the Kingsguard and since she can't run away… she only has marriage open," Tyrion exhales like smoke out of a pipe. "And we can only hope that it's no rapist, womanbeater, complete idiot, or… all of the aforementioned."

" _You_ could marry her," Jaime suggests.

"I would if it were for a good cause, but Father wouldn't let me marry someone whose isles are not as wealthy as are many other lands, and while trading-wise interesting, not politically crucial. I only have one advantage in his eyes, and that is my name. I can secure bonds to other influential families by means of marriage, so he will never let me marry off someone of Brienne's standing. And anyways, I honestly think it'd be better to keep Brienne away from the Lannisters as far as that is possible," Tyrion argues.

"Why?" Jaime frowns.

"Because the Lannisters are poison," Tyrion shrugs. "Father is… _Father_. Cersei, no matter what she may say right now, has one sole personal interest for Brienne, and that is not her goodwill or sympathy."

"She invited Brienne here," Jaime argues.

"And you really think that our dear sister just wants to offer her a hand? _Please_ ," Tyrion huffs.

"Well, to what result is this invitation in your opinion? If you think that Cersei wants to remove Brienne out of my life or whatever, this makes no sense. She actually brought her back by inviting her," Jaime argues.

"Are you aware that the best way to make sure that someone like Brienne stays away from you is to have her married off? It doesn't take much people-skills to know that Brienne, no matter who her husband would be, would be truthful to her oaths, which means that Brienne would never come close to you again," Tyrion replies.

"It shouldn't matter because I am a member of the Kingsguard. Cersei doesn't have to bother to have Brienne off the market. I can never take part in that market," Jaime tells him.

"Maybe not for marriage, but you are seemingly not off a certain other market," Tyrion retorts.

"Brienne was gone out of my life," Jaime repeats.

Brienne was gone, and here she is again, after Cersei brought her back.

So why would Cersei, if she really had any intention to get Brienne out of his life, present her to him once more?

"And she is ruler of Tarth now, which actually means that she gets to decide if she wants to 'go for a visit' in King's Landing. Curiously enough, she never made the way here until now. That either means she really doesn't like us anymore, or something else happened that made her believe that she had to stay away. Since I personally tend to option two, I would further assume that she is under the influence of people who keep her small - and curiously enough, away from King's Landing... and by extension from you and me," Tyrion tells him.

"And you think Cersei influenced her – from here?" Jaime huffs.

"Not necessarily, but I think that Cersei manages your friendship with Brienne ever since she invited her to here. Cersei does things for reasons, so don't be so foolish to believe that our dear sister suddenly went under the charitable people," Tyrion rolls his eyes. "Because she's not the type."

"Cersei wouldn't ever do such a thing to me," Jaime shakes his head.

"I think she has given you any reason to believe that she would do a lot of things, despite the fact that it'd hurt you," Tyrion argues.

She made you break your oaths more than once, you idiot!

"She is…," Jaime means to say, but the younger Lannister interrupts him, "Your sister, your lover."

Jaime glares at him.

"We had it already. I know. And don't jump to the false conclusion that Brienne doesn't know either. She knows, Jaime," Tyrion goes on. The older brother closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

"So you mean to say that there is nothing I can do?" he asks.

"I mean to say that maybe you finally get a taste of Brienne's current situation," Tyrion replies solemnly.

So that is what helplessness feels like.


	28. Ghosts

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around and for eagerly reviewing! You are awe-some!

To my marvellous reviewers:

To Coque: Thank you! I am glad that you liked the last chapter. I really wanted to stress her apparent helplessness in which she finds herself caught up. I am glad that I seem to handle the intrigue (if that is correct, I don't know if I read that right from the translation) to an acceptable degree. I like to publish greetings. I find it awesome to keep in touch with my readers^^ I can't promise to kick Cersei's rear, though I most definitely feel the need to.

To elaine451: I know Jaime got a bit of Jon Snow vibe that is to the point of frustration. I can't really promise that I will give the honour to Tyrion instead, after all, he sees that Jaime has feelings for Brienne and vice versa. And yes, always hate Cersei! You get more reasons to hate her with this chapter! Woot!

In any case, I hope you'll like this chapter ;)

* * *

Brienne wanders through the hallways of Red Keep. She wanders a lot these days, she knows.

She is restless.

And passing through hallways gives Brienne a strange kind of false security that she is moving after all, forward, even if it is running circles in the end.

Or maybe she is unconsciously trying to become a ghost, Brienne doesn't know. The last time she read a book not about politics seems oddly far away these days, and the memories of the stories she loved so much became as faint as the memories of her mother's face.

Perhaps that is what she is after all: A ghost now haunting the Red Keep – and Jaime, which makes it ever the worse for her.

Maybe she should have stayed in Tarth after all.

In fact, Brienne finds herself swayed these days, swayed by old feelings welling back up and memories of better days haunting her even when she is wide awake. She knows she should let them drown, but she can't bring herself to it, as it seems.

She wants to serve, serve her people, but people keep her from it, even now that she is ruler of Tarth.

The vicious sentences still roam around her head like cobwebs, spoken as words of advice, mumbled over parchments in dim candlelight, and cups of herbal tea that made her dizzy.

"Lady Brienne," Cersei greets her, bringing the blonde woman back into the hallway. She looks at the beautiful woman in front of her with surprise and irritation, bowing out of reflex, "Your Grace."

Cersei smiles at her and her ridiculousness, but then strokes over her arm reassuringly, "Now, now, not so formal, we are among ourselves."

"Lady Cersei," Brienne repeats. Cersei flashes a smile at her, "Would you mind if I accompanied you for a little while?"

"Of course not," Brienne lies swiftly. The two start to walk down the corridors next to each other – and Brienne can feel the small hairs on her arms and neck standing up because Cersei is that close to her, their sleeves brushing against each other.

"How are you, dear?" Cersei asks.

 _Dear_. Brienne tries hard not to laugh.

"I am treated well here, for which I thank you," Brienne replies politely. "Just as thankful as I am for your kind invitation."

"Oh, it's the least we can do, and I'm glad that you enjoy it here," Cersei replies, but then touches Brienne's arm again, looking at her sadly, "I never got the chance to tell you personally, but I am so deeply sorry for your loss. Your dear Father truly was a good man. While I only knew him briefly, he still left an impression on me – and ever the more on Jaime. He always spoke of him with adoration."

"He was a good man, yes," Brienne agrees solemnly. The mere thought of her father rips open old wounds – and Cersei mentioning him only pours acid over these very wounds.

"And I find it ever the more honourable that you want to continue his legacy," Cersei says. "The way he surely would have wanted it, to know you secured in marriage, and hopefully with an heir, too."

"Thank you, Your Grace… Lady Cersei," Brienne grimaces.

"I know it's not easy," Cersei exhales. "You see, I didn't ask for my marriage either, so I understand that part of your pain perhaps better than most people."

"I already assumed such," Brienne nods.

"Did you?" Cersei looks at her, so Brienne just shrugs, "The marriage to King Robert came quite fast, after the Rebellion and the events thereafter. And it is in the rarest cases that women get to choose their husband anyways, so… that is why I assumed such."

"Which is why you are in a better position than I was. You have a choice now, dear," Cersei argues, squeezing her arm.

Oh yes, choosing the lesser evil, Brienne reminds herself.

What a marvellous choice! The boiling pit of lava on the right or the one on the left!

"Well, it depends on whether one of the suitors can see past… all of this," Brienne argues, gesturing at her body, the body she learned to hate even more ever since her Father was lowered into Tarth's soil. Because even that body keeps her from fulfilling her oaths.

Everything and everyone keeps her from fulfilling her oaths, by the Gods! And it tears her apart.

"Oh, I'm sure there will be one bulky fellow who takes quite a liking to your… _distinct_ features," Cersei tells her with fake delight.

"I hope so," Brienne agrees, even if on the inside, she revolts.

"I hope so, too. I mean, none of us is getting younger," Cersei smiles at her.

"Truly not," Brienne nods, her shoulders tensing, the words all too familiar.

"Well, it was nice talking to you in private. We should do that more often," Cersei says, tapping her on the arm to pull away from her at last.

"Of course, if Your Grace wishes," Brienne replies politely, bowing once more.

Though both know the "more often" means "never".

"All those years and you still didn't master the curtsy, I am sorry," Cersei shakes her head with a smile that is supposed to feign sympathy, but only shows her disrespect for Brienne.

"Some habits hardly die out, Your Grace. If you excused me now? I am awaited elsewhere," Brienne says, licking her lips.

"Of course, thanks for the nice chat, Lady Brienne," Cersei says before she disappears into the next hallway.

Brienne takes a moment to gather herself.

She is seemingly not the only ghost haunting the Red Keep.

* * *

Jaime could eventually convince Brienne to spend some time with him. After some initial reluctance, she agreed at last. Thus, the two are now in her room, the air so thick that one could cut it with a butter knife. Jaime walks around the chamber while she sits on the bed, her shoulders tense, her eyes not meeting his.

"… I always thought our next reunion would stand under a different, better star, I must admit," he grimaces.

"Well, that's how life plays at times," she exhales wearily.

"You know that I didn't get the letters," Jaime insists.

"Yes, and I believe you," Brienne replies.

"Then why are you…," Jaime grimaces, and she completes, "Keeping a bit of distance? Jaime, I don't mean it as an insult, it's just… I am…"

And here she is apologising again! Gods! She doesn't want to be sorry anymore!

"What?" he asks.

"I am no longer the person you called your friend," she says.

"You will always be my friend, what are you talking about?" Jaime looks at her, suddenly very distressed. That is the one thing he still dared to pride himself with, that such a virtuous being called him friend even when darkness already loomed at the edges of his being.

"I made some necessary changes to my lifestyle," she shrugs.

"I noticed," he huffs.

And he hates them all.

"And they demand that I cannot act around you the way I did back then," Brienne goes on.

She can no longer steal away to secret hideouts in the hope to be herself, if only for a day.

She is just a living excuse, excusing to others all the while, and a poor excuse of a ruler at the same time, a poor excuse of a woman, a Lady, a sword, a friend, a daughter, future wife, future mother, simply one giant, ugly excuse.

"If it is about the funeral or... the kiss, then Brienne, please," Jaime means to say, but she interrupts him in a soft voice, "That's not it. That's not it, I… I realized that I am a political being now, whether I like it or not. And as such, I am looking for a husband, to fulfil my Father's last will of me continuing the family lineage. If people see me close to you, they might start to assume things. And that might fall back on you the same way. It didn't bother before because… because my Father was there and because I could live as I wanted, but now… now I am the ruler of Tarth and that means that I have to abide by the rules."

"Who told you that?" Jaime grimaces.

"Maester Duvall," she shrugs.

"He is a Maester, no politician," Jaime snorts.

"He was my Father's hand in a way. He has more political expertise than anyone in Tarth – I included," Brienne argues.

"And he said to you that I am a bad influence?" Jaime makes a face.

"No, but he pointed out to me that if I were to meet you in King's Landing, bearing in mind what is my goal here, I must be careful not to deliver a wrong picture," Brienne replies. "And I am bound to agree, on a pragmatic basis."

"Brienne, that is not you," Jaime argues.

What happened to the girl who threw her dresses overboard when she came to Casterly Rock for the first time?

What happened to the foulmouthed tomboy who pulled his hair and called him a girl?

Who jumped out of windows as if it was nothing?

Who jumped on a godforsaken lynx?

Who beat boys into the dust – even her betrothed?

What happened to the woman who was not afraid to show her body to him as she dove into the water in search of a bit of comfort in the cold sapphire waters in a cave no one knows about?

Who was all the glory no one ever saw except for him?

"No, it's not, but at some point I had to realize that I can't be myself as much as I would like to. Just as you are not like yourself anymore either. I suppose the older we grow the more is peeled away from us, from the persons we are, or were," Brienne exhales, her eyes drifting to the ceiling.

"Did life really leave you that pessimistic?" Jaime asks.

"I ever was an optimist? I didn't notice," she snorts.

"You used to be cheerful," Jaime argues.

"And naïve," she sighs.

"And brave," Jaime adds.

"Foolish," she chuckles softly but sadly.

"Did Maester Duvall say that, too? He says many things in your name, and that starts to irritate me in more than one way," Jaime grunts.

"He is a good man," she insists.

"There are no good men," Jaime huffs.

"Aren't you one?" Brienne questions.

"You and I both know that I am anything but a good man," Jaime snorts.

He broke his oath. He became the man she never wanted him to be.

"And I am anything but a good woman," Brienne sighs.

Or else she'd be married by now, right?

"You are," Jaime argues, looking at her.

"Don't make me laugh," she says with a crooked smirk, but Jaime tells her in all sincerity, "I told you once and I would always repeat it to any bastard's face who'd dare to claim otherwise: You are a good woman, wench. The best woman I've ever known."

"Don't you forget about someone?" she then says, and yes, it feels like a small stab to his ribs, but Jaime knows that he deserves a sword rammed through his chest for it.

At some point he honestly hoped that Brienne was too naïve to see past his fake smile, he hoped that he perfected the skill of concealment by now, but the sapphires always pierce right through his mask, always did, and seemingly will always.

"My sister is no good person, like me, you by contrast are. You are better than any person I've ever met, and I shook hands with way too many people already," Jaime insists.

That is one of the few things he was always certain of.

That is one of the things that even storms and shouts of 'Kingslayer' could not wash away.

"What does it help even if I was? I am still ugly, I still can't curtsy, I am from a royal house that is politically irrelevant, and should have been born into a boy's body. Those are the things that marriages are not made of, just as they aren't usually made of good people," Brienne shakes her head.

Jaime blinks a few times, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper in his mouth. It pains him beyond reason that he is not the man she saw in him, but it burns deep within him to hear such words flying out of her mouth, that in the end, it really doesn't seem to matter that she is all that good.

"I reckon something else that Maester Duvall was so kind to point out to you," Jaime grunts dismissively. Brienne glares at him, but her eyes have lost a lot of their force. They scratch instead of piercing now.

Jaime stops at her nightstand, glancing at a shining object. He picks it up, inspecting it, noting the sharp intake of air from Brienne.

"What is that?" he asks.

"A vial?" she replies.

"I can see that, wench, but what's in it?" Jaime demands.

"A liquid," she says. While she makes any effort to calm down, Jaime can hear her breath hitching and can see her muscles tensing.

"This game is tiring," he grimaces.

"It is no game. Give it back," Brienne says, holding out her hand to him. Jaime pulls away, "Only if you tell what it is."

"I could also just punch you in the crotch and take it," Brienne warns him.

"And I can't believe that I'm saying it – but at some point I'd be glad if you did because that would mean that the old Brienne would somehow still exist," Jaime retorts.

Brienne stares at him in shock and bewilderment.

She knows she is a toothless, clawless giantess now, but it pains her that Jaime sees it, just as it hurts her that he seemingly aches at that the same way she does.

"What is this?" he demands another time.

"It makes me sleep. Maester Duvall brews it for me," Brienne admits at last, her voice barely audible.

"You never took such stuff, at least not without being forced into it," Jaime grimaces, his free hand clenching to the point that he can feel his nails digging into his palms.

He can still recall his first visit to Tarth, when Lord Selwyn talked about the herbal tea she had been given to calm her down, which prevented her from greeting him. How she said to him that she fought till last. And now she takes that stuff by herself?

Who is this woman in front of him?

Who stole Brienne's eyes and put them on her?

"I can't sleep," she says, gritting her teeth. Jaime looks at her. These few words come out so raw that it leaves him breathless for a moment.

Her voice suddenly sounds way too much like it did back when they were in that cave and she left a bruise on her arm.

"I can't sleep, I couldn't ever since my Father's last will was read out loud," she brings out, the air burning in her lungs.

Jaime just stares, only stares.

"The first few nights it was so bad that I waved a dagger around, trying to kill the shadows in my dreams. The next nights I almost choked because I saw people drowning, because I drowned inside my dreams. After one moon, I simply collapsed in bright daylight, like one of those ridiculous princesses in the plays. Here, you can still see the scar from where I hit the ground with my head," she points to a fine almost silvery shining line running just above her left eyebrow. "I refused that stuff at first, but it happened again and again. I couldn't think, I couldn't drink, I couldn't eat. You can count yourself lucky that you didn't see me during that time. I looked uglier than the ugliest person on the planet. I just couldn't take it anymore. I needed to sleep, so yes, I took the women's brew to have a few hours of rest. Shame on me that I wanted to sleep – and want to sleep to this day."

She hates herself for it, but at some point, Brienne couldn't help it anymore. She became one of those witless geese who drink sweet little brews coming in fancy-looking vials, just that the sweet little brew always tasted bitter to her. But Brienne realised that she had to act again, get out of her stasis and act in the interest of her people to somehow force herself back into motion. And that is what she did from the day forward she took the first vial to her lips.

She became sworn sword to Tarth, even if that meant to take some brew to give her strength she needs to pull through the day.

"I had no idea…," Jaime brings out, the air knocked out of his lungs as though he just took a lance in jousting.

"Of course you didn't. You didn't hear it from me, you didn't see me. But as your friend, I beg you not to judge me for it. It shames me myself enough. I never wanted to be one of the geese who take a small little vial to their lips to drift to sweet dreams of dresses and gemstones. I never wanted to be this kind of a woman, this kind of a person, and I'm still trying anything within my powers not to be this, but I have to sleep, Jaime. I have to sleep, I need to," Brienne says, her voice shaking.

"I am so sorry. I should have been there, I should have…," Jaime stammers.

"Don't. I held it against you inside my head long enough for us both. You didn't get my letters. You were trying to be polite. So don't blame yourself for any of this. I can't bear your shame atop of my own, _please_ ," she begs him now, knocking the last air out of him. Jaime only looks at her, fidgeting for words, but finds none.

"Ser Jaime?" a voice suddenly calls out. The knight twists around on the heel, truly looking like a lion now, "Get out of here!"

"Jaime," Brienne warns him.

"What… do you want?" Jaime says, one eye halfway closed, drawing the words out like tar.

"The Queen wants to see you. It's about the upcoming ball. She wants to discuss the security with you presently," the young man says.

"Ah, _now_ she does, of course… Tell _Our Grace_ that she should take a stick and shove it…," Jaime growls, but this time Brienne interrupts him harshly, "Jaime!"

He whips his head back around to Brienne, who goes on, "The _Queen_ wants to see you, so go. I have other business to take care of."

The two exchange glances, sapphire shining back at him with more intensity than he ever saw over the last few days.

"I will see you later," he says numbly.

This is no question.

"Yes," she agrees, knowing that it is no question.

Jaime leaves the room fuming, his eyes and heart on fire.


	29. Sleep

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around!

In reply to my wonderful reviewers, since I find talking to them ever so enjoyable:

To BrighWatcher: You certainly left a review now, and thank you so much for it! I am glad that you like it. I am sorry for the heart-condition I caused you with the last chapter. Maybe this chapter soothes some of your pains, though. Thank you!

To Coque: Thank you! If I understood correctly, I can only agree, Cersei unites all the snake-like attributes within a person that unifies us haters to hate her ever the more. And here I am not sure if the online translation delivered me a good translation, but if I understood right, then yes, there is a chance that she was the evil snake who swallowed the letters, but one can never know, of course... or well, I do, but I won't spoiler the surprise at this point ;) I am honored that my words reach all the way up to your kitchen.

Spoiler-Alert (don't like, don't read, skip, sing a song to yourself, you know how it works): The idea Jaime puts forth was actually put forth by one of my readers on AO3, Lady_Blade_WarAngel (greatest thanks to her), which I found so interesting that I couldn't stop thinking about it, resulting in me rewriting some things to the point that I found this more fitting than what I had previously framed. While it might seem rather rash from him, I gave it more and more thought and came to the conclusion that this would still fit into character for him, since he'd go very far for Brienne and wants to put her out of the awful situation she finds herself in presently.

Really, that is why I love fanfiction forums. You get so much more input and inspirations!

I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter ;)

* * *

Later the day, Jaime goes to Brienne's chamber again.

He has to talk to her, has to.

He opens the door without knocking, but stops once he stands in the doorframe, waiting for a reaction from her. Brienne frowns at him for a moment, before giving a small nod anyway, so he closes the door behind him, stepping closer.

In all those years, he still didn't learn to knock on her door.

Because he seemingly knows that she can't keep him out at some point, however foolish that is.

"We didn't get to finish our conversation properly," he says as he makes his way inside.

"I already feared that you were going to say that," she exhales as she closes the door. "What did the Queen want?"

"Bugging me," Jaime snorts."I ended it the fastest I could."

He was that close to choking her for the smile tugging at her lips.

"So? What do you want to lecture me about now?" she questions with a sigh dying on her lips.

"I don't want to lecture you. I am… I am just sorry that I wasn't there to support you," Jaime argues.

"As I said, you couldn't know," Brienne shrugs.

And it doesn't matter.

And that is what really hurts. That it doesn't matter at all.

"But I should have," he insists.

"It doesn't matter," she argues in a soft voice.

"Can I say something without you taking offence in it?" Jaime asks with a grimace.

"If I took offence in all the things that come out offensively, we'd hardly be friends anymore," Brienne rolls her eyes.

"I honestly think that Maester Duvall is no good influence on you," Jaime goes on. "He makes you do things you wouldn't have done before. I tell you that as someone who cares about you, not as someone who wants to tell you what to do or not to do."

"Which is to say that I would have made politically wise choices when I was still a foolish child?" she grimaces.

"No, I am just talking about personal matters," Jaime argues. "He influences you on a personal level, and that is what's bothering me. I give a damn on the political course for as long as you are happy with it, but you are far from happy, and that is what I can't stand."

"I don't like Duvall either, just so that you know," she admits after a while.

"I thought you did," he frowns, but Brienne only shakes her head.

"He was the one political advisor available who had my father's trust. I don't come to have many trustworthy family members around me. You know the parasites. I had to rely on some people, though, so he was the safest option for me. Because he has most political expertise, I told you. That doesn't mean that I like him, though," Brienne shrugs. "In fact, I would rather get rid of him, as an advisor. We lately tend to disagree… a lot."

"In what regard?" Jaime grimaces.

"A lot of them," she shrugs. "He is not pleased with how I rule Tarth. He insists that I have to put more effort in the trading while I don't want to deal around with people who wouldn't even know what honour is if it bit them in the arse. He thinks that I am just trying to please my people so that they like me better. I mean, I am glad that they… don't hate me anymore, and I daresay respect me now, but I meant it when I said that I want to serve them, no matter if they like me or not… well, and then there are some other things. As I said, we disagree a lot."

"And how do you want to get rid of him, if you think you have to keep him as your right-hand man?" Jaime questions, not pressing on the issue of "some other things", whatever those may be.

"That's also what I am here for. To get myself a husband who can take over that part," Brienne shrugs. "I am still no good with politics, so a husband who is… might be the best choice… especially since I can set up a marriage contract beforehand... and of course a husband is a good option to replace Maester Duvall... And then of course a husband is my gateway to finally fulfil my dear Father's last will of continuing the Tarth lineage…"

Her mouth flexes into a nervous smile, though her voice tells another story.

Because this is no funny story to tell.

"Does it say that you have to marry, in the last will?" Jaime asks hesitantly. Brienne frowns at him, "What do you mean to imply?"

"Well, Tyrion said that it was about continuing the family lineage. He didn't mention marriage in that context," Jaime shrugs. "So I ask myself if it said so _explicitly_ in your father's last will that you had to marry – and then have an heir."

"You know, if you want to have children, that is how you usually do it," Brienne rolls her eyes slowly.

"What I mean to say is that you actually don't have to take yourself a husband of a prestigious house. You could take a commoner, a nobody, even, right? Because you are undoubtedly Lord Selwyn's heir," Jaime explains, licking his lips. "You could let the child be legitimised by the King, no bother."

"Hypothetically speaking, yes, I suppose," she grimaces, not sure what to make of his words.

"Then why are doing all this here? Why this ball? If it is only about… having an heir? You could take anyone and no one at the same time," Jaime questions.

"You can count yourself lucky that I know that you don't mean this as an insult," Brienne huffs.

"And I really don't. I just mean to say that… you don't have to take up with all this here, if it's only about fulfilling that part of your oath to your father. You don't have to bother pleasing some Lord to secure Tarth. You can really take anyone you find… I don't know, right, trustworthy, whatever. You don't even have to marry him. And then search yourself a good political advisor to kick out Duvall," Jaime argues.

Brienne lets out a sigh, "That would surely help my reputation."

"Reputation didn't matter to you before," he argues.

"It does now," Brienne shrugs. "Whether I like it… or not."

Tarth and she are already laughed at for the incapability of securing the lineage by marriage. And that is surely not what her Father wanted at all.

"You don't need a man to define yourself as the heiress of Tarth," Jaime argues. "You don't need any man to define yourself as who you are."

"No, I just need an heir of my own to define myself," Brienne flashes a sad smile.

Before, she defined herself by her knightly virtues, and now… just the one function she shares with all women who can conceive children, which becomes oh so bitter, thinking about it. Because that means what she defines herself with something that doesn't stand out at all. It's completely arbitrary, _she_ is. She fades into that grey mass, becomes a part of it, and there is nothing she can do about it.

"But for that you don't need to marry," Jaime argues.

"It is expected," Brienne shakes her head.

"But not required," Jaime insists.

"What are you trying to tell me? That I should just… let _some_ man make me a child in the belly?" she questions, studying him. Brienne blinks as she realises the seriousness of his statement, reflected in his fiery green eyes. "… You _mean_ that."

"I just know that you don't seek marriage, just as I know that you don't want… _this_ here. You only want to fulfil your oath to your father. And if the oath doesn't say about marriage, then why not… _just_ this?" Jaime says, chewing on his lower lip.

"It isn't right," she shrugs.

"Who says that?" Jaime argues.

" _I_ say that," she replies promptly. "And in any case, that would still imply that someone would _want_ to make me a child, which is apparently _not_ the case. I learned that by now. People are a lot more focused on looks than you and I are."

"They don't know what they miss out on," Jaime grunts.

And she still doesn't know her glory.

"It doesn't matter. I have held balls. I have had men approach me... and still, no one. I don't know how that would suddenly change, if not for me taking some kind of action," she argues. "And believe it or not, I won't pay whoever for that bit of _service_. I am willing to go far, but not that far _yet_."

"That's not what I mean to say," Jaime argues.

"Then what _do_ you mean to say?" she exhales.

"… I could make you a child," Jaime then says slowly, cautiously, making Brienne blink.

At some point, neither one can actually believe that he just suggested that.

Brienne needs a moment to gather herself before she can reply with a bit of sarcasm in her voice, "That sounds oddly similar to your foolish suggestion during the Night of the Lynx, and we both know that this didn't end pretty."

No, it almost cost them their friendship, both know.

"I mean it, though," Jaime argues, his voice soft. "If that means you don't have to do… all this here… if that means that you could fulfil your promise to your father, to secure Tarth, then… if you'd want me to, I'd do it."

"Jaime, I told you once already. I won't ever make you break an oath you made," Brienne argues.

"But it would let you keep yours," Jaime objects as the images of her holding him close flood back into his mind.

"It doesn't matter. I couldn't bear the thought that you broke _such_ a promise because of me. There are other ways," Brienne argues.

"But no good ways," Jaime grunts, gritting his teeth.

"You think _this_ would be? Given that you would actually make me a child? You think it would be good for you to know that there is one of your children out there, and you couldn't see it? You think it'd be good for me to raise it all alone?" Brienne questions.

She knows he is a man of impulse, he has always been. Jaime thinks with his heart most of the time, not his head. And while most people would think that he thinks with something entirely else first hearing that offer, Brienne knows that Jaime suggests this because he worries about her, however odd that may seem to the rest of the world.

"I don't say that it's a perfect solution," he shrugs helplessly.

He just can't stand it to see her like this.

" _Anything but_ a perfect solution, you mean to say," she snorts. "And in any case, a child without marriage, without the father known, will surely destroy any chance for me to find myself a husband in the future."

"You wouldn't need one," Jaime argues. "That'd be the whole point."

"But what if I want it one day after all?" Brienne argues, making Jaime blink at her, to which she rolls her eyes. "What? It can happen. I can't be a knight anymore, so maybe marriage is the only signficant vow I can still make in life."

Jaime keeps staring, his mind drifting.

"And even if not… What if something is wrong with the child and it dies? Two of my family members died when they were just that small. Who knows if this isn't something one passes on to one's children? One can never know. What if it dies before it can continue the lineage, by accident or so?" Brienne goes on. "The safest option for me is to find myself a husband – and have heirs with him… however successful that will be."

"What do you mean?" Jaime grimaces.

"It doesn't matter," she shakes her head.

"Brienne," he tilts his head.

"I said it doesn't matter," she says with more force this time. "So to say it once more, that you make me a child is completely out of question. You have an oath, and I want you to live by it the best you can, so I will be the last one to ask you anything that brings you closer to breaking your vows. I did that once, and that's enough."

"I made the first step," Jaime argues, thinking back to the cave in which he wanted to get lost in for all days, but didn't. He approached her, he kissed her.

"And I let it happen," she shrugs. "Knowing your responsibilities, your oaths."

Knowing that his heart is only a half for all his life.

"… Sometimes I regret it, you know," he admits. "That I donned the White."

"Please don't say that you do so because of me," she exhales.

Because she couldn't stand that.

She doesn't want more oaths to be broken because of her.

And she surely doesn't want Jaime to regret being a knight, because that is what they both dreamed of.

Brienne doesn't want more dreams to fall from the sky like falling stars.

Because they are just dead, and she couldn't bear this one in particular to die.

"I regret it for more than one reason, and you are one of them indeed," he grimaces.

"And the others?" she asks.

"That I can't keep safe the people I care about most because I have to serve a King before my loved ones. I had to realise that this is actually… prohibited, when I used to believe that this was what knighthood was all about. That is also what earned me the nice byname," he shrugs, his features dropping.

"What do you mean?" she asks. Jaime licks his lips, forcing air into his lungs to the point that they ache.

"It's a tale I didn't tell anyone yet," he admits.

"You don't have to say it," she argues.

"But I think _you_ should know it… I made the choice against my King… in favour of my loved ones, back during the Rebellion. I did it because he said to me that he would kill my family. He wanted to see all of the people in King's Landing burn. He wanted to use all of King's Landing's Wildfire to see people burn and melt and burn again... And he laughed while he said it. He _laughed_. He has his name for a reason, truly, but… but I couldn't let that happen, even though he was my King. I just couldn't… and that is when I stabbed him like a coward, from behind," Jaime admits, his voice coming out croaked, heavy with emotion. "And I wouldn't mind that people give me _that look_ now. That they call me Kingslayer. I wouldn't mind if that didn't make me less of a knight or make knighthood less knightly."

She just looks at him, says nothing.

"It's just... I always wanted to be one of those knights from your books. I wanted to be like James from the _Travelling Knight_. I wanted to be like Ser Damon from the _Knight and the Rose_ who brought an entire troupe to put down their weapons with no more than a rose in hand and his sheer willpower. I wanted to be Ser Hal from _The Castle in the Sea_ , who died an honourable death by drowning in the waters instead of letting sickness take him, if only to see the castle and the woman he called home one last time before he went. I wanted to be as strong as Ser Walden from _The_ _Sword Tales_ , as brave as Ser Renton from _The Quest to the Land of the Giants_. I wanted to be a knight made of just that stuff. And I thought that in the Kingsguard… I would be around such heroes, but in reality. And that I would become one of them, too," Jaime admits, chewing his lower lip.

And again, Brienne says nothing. She lets him tell his story.

Because she always does.

She even listens to the ugly tale now his story.

The story that is anything but glorious.

"But in the end… I can only hope, yes, _hope_ , that I am only slightly like Ser Gabriel from _The Knight, the Devil, and the Beggar_ ," he exhales, his voice shaking.

"Ser Gabriel died in the end," she grimaces.

"But with a bit of honour intact, and a faint chance coming out of the whispers in the epilogue," Jaime exhales. "I am anything but the knight from your books, the knight you seemingly saw in me. I am anything but a single one of these knights in virtue. I am just the pardoned Ser Jaime Lannister, formerly known as the Kingslayer, as it is written in _The Book of the Brothers_. And I honestly thought and hoped that there would be a better story of mine to put down in a book."

He wanted to have a different story to tell Brienne.

He wanted to write one that would make her proud despite the distance and the pain that came with it.

"… That doesn't mean you can't make it a better story, though. You can still fill the pages of _The Book of the Brothers_ with other tales, speaking of your knighthood," she argues.

Jaime looks at her. He is the only one who'll ever know her soft voice, as it seems, the one that leaves men and women alike simply breathless.

"And in any case… if it says in there that you slayed the Mad King, then one of your greatest achievements is already down on paper," she goes on.

"Which is considered one of my greatest sins," he huffs.

"The story you told me is not at all sinful," she argues.

"The official version…," he means to say, but she interrupts him. "I don't care for the official version. I care for _your_ version. If you tell me that he would have killed so many people, had you not intervened, then you did what any knight should have done… And while I can't say so for certain, I probably would have done the same thing. Either option would have meant sacrifice, and I think this was the lesser evil. I know what that is like, to choose between lesser evils. And it is just that: Evil, evil to those who have to make these choices. And I am sorry that you had to break one of your oaths in favour of another. That is a decision no knight should be forced into. That is a decision _you_ should never have been forced into."

"… Just like you," he breathes, his voice barely audible.

"Maybe it's our destiny that we write similar stories, just apart from each other, and with oaths of different content," she exhales.

He grabs her hand.

"Jaime," she grimaces, meaning to pull away, but the young man holds on more firmly.

"Just… for tonight. Nothing more than holding hands ,wench," he manages the smallest of smiles. "If only for old time's sake."

And at last, she lets him.

Brienne can't tell why.

Maybe it's really just for old time's sake.

Maybe one last escape before they start to write their stories apart again.

Both continue to sit in silence, not looking at each other, finding solace in the warmth of each other's palm.

Eventually, Brienne drifts off to sleep, likely much to her own surprise, after all, she said not long ago that she could not sleep. At some point, her upper body just slumps down on the mattress and the rest of her body curls in on herself. And for a moment, Jaime can't help but marvel at how small she can appear like this.

Just as fragile as she was back in that cave.

Jaime delicately brings his other hand up to her face to bring a few of the straw-like strands out of her face, which rise and fall with every intake of air, which seemingly cause her discomfort as she shifts in her sleep. She really should wear it short again, Jaime can't help but note.

For a moment, he wants to withdraw again, but his fingers ghost over the scar she pointed to earlier the day before he can even make an attempt to pull away again. He can feel small bolts of lightning shooting up his fingertips without even touching the pearly coloured line along her brow.

He knows that Brienne has scars far worse than this, but this one stings in particular because Jaime thinks he could have prevented it, if only one of his letters had reached her, if only he had tried harder to stay in her life, to offer support even when she didn't want it.

Jaime's finger travels further to find the familiar scar from the melee. It, too, is pearly in colour, with a tint of sapphire blue at its center. He reckons that this is one of the scars she bears with pride, even if only in secret, because she received it by acting like a true knight… and protecting him, for all it's worth. Jaime tilts his head. For some reason he can't help but see a lion in this scar, in its ragged edges, almost like the lion's mane fluttering in the breeze.

Jaime withdraws his hand slowly, wondering for a moment how it's possible that he can touch her face, when not long ago, it was enough for him to stand above her to wake her from her sleep.

It is during moments such as these that he really regrets that he donned the White. Because he acted against that vow to know his loved ones protected, but as it turns out, Brienne wasn't protected. And even now he cannot save her. Even making her a child in all secret won't undo that wrong. Even helping her fulfil this one oath will not help her in any significant way. Because she is still bound to be a Lady when she wants to do nothing but to serve. Because she is supposed to be in a certain way when Jaime wants her to be just the way she'd want to be.

She is simply supposed to be happy.

But she isn't.

She has no happy tale to tell.

In the end, they both will likely only get to tell the story of the _Knight, the Devil, and the Beggar_ – and that would already be wishful thinking.

Jaime withdraws from her touch, the warmth instantly fading from him, before he makes his way out of the room. While he feels more than tempted to stay there, he wants to do what she asked him to, and that is not to deliver a wrong picture.

He makes his way to his room, ghosting through dark hallways that hold a million shadows haunting him. Once inside the safety of his own chamber, he manoeuvres to his bookshelf, his fingers finding the book in question with ease. Jaime knows them by the texture against his fingertips already, as often as he read them over the years to bring back memories of Brienne whenever they were parted. Jaime lights a candle on his nightstand, lies down, head propped up against the headrest, and flips the book open, reminding himself of the story that seemingly is their story after all, if only for the fact that the knight is anything but a knight till last, and the good woman is made sacrifice for his virtue.

* * *

 _Once upon a time there was a knight, Ser Gabriel. He was a man born without riches and without family, only gifted with his knightly virtues which enabled him to rise from knighthood all the way to the Guard of the King as his most trusted warrior. He was a proud and strong man, who was driven by his wish to become the very best in the world. He slayed many enemies, protected more people than others can count, and fought in more wars than any man before him ever had.  
_

 _However, even after all these wars, after all these fights, he did not feel as though he was the strongest. Ser Gabriel was appalled at his own inability to grow further. He did not want to believe that there were limits to his strength, to his devotion he had for King and Kingdom._

 _So Ser Gabriel set out on a quest to find the strongest enemies in the world entire to beat them all and thus become the strongest man the world has ever known, but the quest was troublesome and little successful, since he did not know where to look for the enemies. He did not have their names or faces, and no war to lead him the way. The knight was short before giving in, as much as it pained his very soul._

 _When he wanted to travel back to his King in shame, he stopped by in a small town to spend the night. He went to a tavern, wanting to drown his sorrows at the bottom of the cups of wine readily handed to him._

 _However, that was when a woman, wearing a purple velvet hood, entered the tavern and walked over to him at once. She tore the hood off her head to reveal the most beautiful and formidable woman underneath that the world will ever have seen. She sat down next to him without asking his permit, and started talking though he never asked her name._

 _Her voice was honey, whispered liked wind does through boughs. And through that honey she told him that she could help him become what he wanted to be. At first, the knight was enraged, feeling his knightly pride hurt, but as she went on to tell him that she knew that he wanted to become the strongest man in the world and wanted to support him, he started to succumb to the sound of her voice and the prospect of fulfilling his one true wish he dared to have for himself for all his life, for his life was for his King, and he usually put his King before anyone and anything._

 _The woman told him to think about her offer and that if he wanted to become the strongest man of all the kingdoms, he would find her on the outskirt of town, near an old willow. With that she was just gone._

 _Ser Gabriel laid the whole night awake, his mind wrestling with itself. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to serve his King, better, faster, and he had to learn through the course of his journey that he was never going to achieve that chasing the old and new Masters of War._

 _And so, on the following day, he sought out the beautiful woman by the old willow. She smiled at him, squeezed his hand, and assured him that she would fulfil her promise to him so he may fulfil his to his King in turn. She gave him a black armour and told him that with this armour, there would be no enemy that could get past this defence, making him unbeatable in turn. The knight put it on and felt a strange kind of pull on him, but did not get much time to investigate that feeling, since news of a war back home raging reached him mere moments later as a boy came crying the message as he ran to the gates of town.  
_

 _The woman bid the knight farewell as he hurried back to his homelands to fight for his beloved King. As he arrived, he had to see that his army was likely going to lose, so he withdrew his sword and let it sing the song of blood and gore as he slayed one enemy after the other. Many tried to put a spear through his chest, a dagger through his side, a sword through his ventail, but he did not receive a single scratch, the woman having held word. He tore down an entire army with nothing but his sheer willpower and the aid of his armour._

 _Once the enemy was defeated, the King called the knight forth and thanked him for his services, promising him everything he wanted. And much to everyone's surprise, had the knight been a very modest man for all his life, demanded a fifth of the treasury. The King gave it to him anyway. The knight said that he would set out again in search of someone to beat him, and so his new quest was no longer about becoming the strongest man alive, but about finding the one person who was stronger than him._

 _However, he found none._

 _Any enemy that dared battle him lost his life within mere seconds._

 _The knight grew weary and dark, not knowing what to do with his life anymore. He had achieved all he ever wanted, and now that he had it, his heart felt heavy with remorse he didn't dare to admit to himself._

 _While on his voyage through a small town, he met a cloaked beggar in one of the streets, his feet black from dust, his fingers full of scars, the bones standing out. The beggar asked him for a dole, but the knight denied him, telling the beggar that if he wanted something, he just had to fight for it, how he had done it for all his life._

 _That was when the beggar rose to his feet and challenged the knight to a duel. At first the knight just laughed at him, not taking this threat sincere, but he realised the man's devotion, so he willed into the battle at last, since he, even with a shattered kind of honour, still held on to the old codices._

 _Ser Gabriel gave him his spare sword to battle. He thought that it would likely be the fastest fight of his life, but to his surprise and shock, the beggar, bony and scrawny, emaciated by hunger, moved as swiftly as a dancer, the sword singing in his angular hands sweeter than any honey the world could bring forth, and before Ser Gabriel had a chance to catch himself, he laid in the dust, the beggar kicking his sword out of his hand within mere seconds._

 _The knight, for the first time in his life, had no choice but to yield, since the man had beat him, fair and sound. While the beggar couldn't kill him, he still beat him. Ser Gabriel looked up to the beggar, who went ahead to pull the hood from his face to reveal a girl in rags underneath._

 _He asked her how it was possible that she beat him with such ease, to which she only replied that she was sent by the Gods to judge him for his sins, after he had taken lives with pleasure, forgot about his virtues of goodwill, putting riches and glory before charity and humbleness._

 _The knight tore the helmet off his head and bowed down, the dust against his lips, as the weight of his sins raining down on him._

 _On his quest of becoming the strongest, he became everything he wanted to fight when still young, full of ideals of knighthood which were true and virtuous._

 _Ser Gabriel did the only thing he could do, so he begged for forgiveness to the young woman who had forced his eyes open. The girl bowed down, her feet still naked, and kissed him on the scalp, but that was the moment the woman in purple velvet appeared and the knight understood that he had made a pact with a devil, and that the same devil whose voice was honey was always out for his corruption, for the many lives he took and send to feed her darkness._

 _The woman in rags straightened up and was just about to say something to the devil in disguise, when she fell backwards right in front of the knight, crimson spreading around her like a dark halo, after the devil shot an arrow through the girl's heart._

 _The knight cupped the girl's face, begged her not to die, but she faded away faster than words could say. The woman behind him laughed evilly, making fun of the joke of a messenger the Gods had to spare to send here. The knight got up this time, and told her to bring her back, but the devil said that she couldn't, that the only thing she could do was to take lives, not to give them. So he asked her to take his life, since he didn't want to go on in a world where he caused so much sorrow, but she said that she would never, and that he would live for all eternity to feed her dead souls, since no one could slay him._

 _And that is when Ser Gabriel understood, drew his sword one last time, and rammed it into his own chest, since no enemy may slay him, but for he is no stranger, the blade readily sank into his flesh and poured the blood out of him. The devil shrieked, telling him that he would die a fool, and that there was no way for him but to join her in the hells, but the knight did not care._

 _He fell down next to the woman in rags as the armour fell to pieces like ashes, his eyes fixed on the girl's ocean-like eyes, following her gaze, following her across, leaving everything behind at once as life faded out of him with every drop of blood that left him._

 _The devil huffed as she disappeared into the hells to wait for him to come to her._

 _But he never came._

 _The rumour went around that the knight never died, and that it was a trick to get out of the contract with the devil and now lived somewhere in exile._

 _Other rumours told the story of the knight having ended up in another hell where she could not reach him.  
_

 _Some believed that he was now the vengeful Spirit of War itself, raging over the battlefields._

 _Another tale that went around said that he joined her in hell after all._

 _Others said he went to the heavens instead, having been freed of his sins._

 _And a few whispers, almost not audible, like boughs in the wind, told the tale of two people, dressed in nothing but rags, passing through the lands without a starting point or a final goal, so their quest may never end, no longer caught up in a state of being, but a constant state of becoming._


	30. Doors

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around, following, favoriting, reviewing. You folks are a bunch of awesome.

In reply to Coque: Thank you so much. Yeah, Jaime's idea was not really sound enough for Brienne to act upon. He is a hotspur, let's face it. And you're right, if not for the situation being so bad for Brienne, she definitely would have punched the "goldyboy" (that is the word the online translator gave me, and I quite like it ;) ) to knock some sense into him. I can't promise that he will just follow through with it. For that I am still too hooked on the drama.

* * *

On the day of the ball, Brienne looks at herself in the mirror, grimacing at her own reflection. She had a dress tailored for herself before she went to King's Landing, which is of fine materials, or so she was told, and is supposed to be pretty to the eye. Brienne will never get used to the fit or the texture against her skin, though. She is under the impression that whenever she wears something soft or silky, she feels even rougher, harder, edgier as a result, all the things that are no marriage material, however, at least on the woman's behalf.

At some point Brienne wished things were as easy as Jaime makes them appear, where a child would be enough to make it all work, with a father who may stay hidden behind a shining armour and white cloak, but Brienne doesn't see the world the way he does, as much as she would like to.

Brienne pulls on the fabric of the dress, her frown deepening. She really looks grotesque in these womanly garments. They only put to display her worst features, her long torso and broad shoulders, or her small breasts, to mention but a few. It's odd how a womanly garment manages to make her even less womanly than does men's clothing.

And looking in the mirror doesn't make matters any better.

Back in Tarth, she avoided mirrors for a long time, because Brienne couldn't bear to see just how ugly she could become on top of her natural ugliness. When sleep drew the colour out of her complexion and fatigue drew the fullness out of her cheeks, Brienne had to try hard not to let out a strangled laugh each time. After she thought that she was the ugliest thing in the world anyways, Brienne didn't dare to believe that she could be any uglier, but the reality glancing back at her from the mirrors proved her wrong. While Brienne shattered quite a few mirrors in rage, perhaps explaining her bad luck at some point, she eventually just passed them by without looking. And once she slept through the darkness of the night again, Brienne was at least no longer a new level of ugly, but just her usual self, the usual kind of ugly. Long torso, broad shoulder, small breasts, crooked teeth, hair of straw.

Not that Brienne ever was much of a person to look at her own reflection in the first place. She knows what will look back at her, and never will it be something enjoyable for the eye. At some point she still asks herself why all the geese keep staring at their own reflection, as though staring at once mirror image would somehow make one prettier or uglier. For Brienne, it is quite straightforward that no matter how long she stares at her own reflection, she will always be just an ugly wench.

Brienne turns around, studying the train of the dress. She just hopes she won't stumble over it. It's enough to look like a troll, another to stagger like one. Her fingers inevitably start to nestle the material, twisting it between her long, calloused fingers, pinching her own flesh here and there, if only to make herself conscious of the fact that this is reality, and not just a mirror image hidden behind the ugly reflection.

Sometimes she really has to try hard not to laugh when Brienne thinks back to the secret cave and how Jaime had asked her if she believed him if he said that she was beautiful. While Brienne knows that he didn't mean it as a joke back then, she still can't help but wonder what Jaime must have seen in that cave. Perhaps he was really just blinded by the white sunlight or his pains and sorrows over her Father's death that left deep scars also in his heart. Though Jaime will always be the only one who called her beautiful without sarcasm in his voice for once. Even if he was under an illusion by the time, she can't help but feel a little bit of warmth in her chest at the thought.

Brienne puckers her lips, studying her mirror image another time.

It's better than nothing, upon more reflection.

While the cut does nothing for her, the colour _does_ suit her eyes. Jaime always said that her eyes were one of the few good-looking features about her and that she should wear more blue if she could help it, because it accentuated the sapphires she wears in her eyes. It's likely needless to mention that it earned Jaime being flipped over before he could say just one more word, after he had uttered it as a tease when they were both still very young.

So maybe she will only look slightly freakish, or at least freakish with a few good features. Like her eyes.

One of the girls from her entourage already said that she'd braid her hair to make it a bit less straw-like, though Brienne already dreads the pull on her scalp, and the look she knows she will have regardless of the effort.

Well, but the way she reckons, it will be over after that. She will find herself a husband, and then this part is finished and she never has to bother again.

Hopefully the man will see soon enough that she looks grotesque in these dresses, so that he is not too disappointed for her to wear men's clothing in private. If a marriage comes about, she should definitely try to add that to a marriage contract.

While Brienne could care less about what other people make of her looks, she doesn't feel comfortable in these dresses, so if she has to settle into an uncomfortable life, at least the clothes should be rather comfortable whenever it is appropriate.

But truly, once that is finished, she won't have to bother again…

Just that then she will have to bother about having an heir, preferably more.

She nestles at the dress another time, right by the waist, pinching some of her flesh in the process in anger and frustration.

A knock on the door pulls Brienne out of her thoughts.

"C'mon in," she says, as a young woman, maybe seventeen, Brienne still isn't sure, with unruly raven hair comes inside. She was ordered to her service ever since she arrived as a guest to the Red Keep. A sweet girl, really, though Brienne reckons that she is not treated sweetly around here.

"Milady? I was sent to ask you to come to Ser Jaime's chambers," the girl says, bowing her head.

"Right now or later the day?" Brienne asks.

"Presently, Milady," the girl tells her. Brienne lets a small sigh. She would rather get out of the dress before she goes, but Jaime saw her in dresses before, and he is gladly one of the few people who don't laugh at her grotesqueness. When he frowns at her dress, she knows it is because he knows that she usually doesn't look like that, and seemingly misses the familiarity, which is something she finds incredibly soothing most of the time.

"Alright, thank you," she tells the young woman. "I will go there right away."

"Do you need me to show you the way?" the girl asks.

"No, no, I know where to find it, thank you," Brienne tells her, offering a small, reassuring smile. The girl nods frantically before heading out again. Brienne lets one last sigh, not daring to look at her reflection another time.

She makes her way through the hallways of the Red Keep, daring to feel a little lighter. While her situation does not improve solely due to the fact that their friendship is as strong as ever, if not even stronger, having survived even that low, it is still a giant source of comfort for her.

And that even though she thought it was over already.

Brienne knocks on the door softly, waiting for a reply that doesn't come, however. She frowns as she pushes the door open, only to find the room empty. Brienne grimaces. Well, maybe he was held up by someone. Or he just runs late, as he likes to do.

Brienne just hopes that Jaime will not give her yet another lecture about her chances and how he doesn't like her new life.

It's not like she likes it by any means, but Brienne sees the necessity of it.

She wants to do things right, so even Jaime's suggestion about only having a child seems oddly far away for her. She just thinks back to her father's gaze at the feast when Renly Baratheon danced with her, before it became apparent that the others were merely mocking her. How happy he was, to know her with what he thought would be a good man who would treat her kindly.

While Brienne is no creature of sentimental feelings, she feels that strong urge to do the things her Father would have wanted her to do, or she thinks he would want her to do, even if he didn't specifically state it in his last will. And he surely wouldn't want Tarth to be frowned upon by an heiress who has children without marriage, and rules her lands without someone by her side.

She still hopes that she won't have to use the last token too soon. She wants to see if she can't find herself someone who is at least trustworthy. She long since gave up on finding a man who could love her or whom she could love. She just wants to find herself a man who is smart enough to do the things she cannot, to get her away from Duvall and his stabbing advices and warnings about her time running out, and to have him under enough control with a marriage contract so he will not exploit her people.

Someone who will make her the heir, or rather heirs, Tarth needs.

The heir, heirs she needs to have a definition again, however much of a weak one that may be.

Those are oaths in little, but oaths no less, and likely the best she can get. The past has proven to her that Brienne cannot enchant with her looks or her personality, even with a dress that may accentuate her eyes. She can only convince with the political power she can offer, Tarth's trading routes, being her Father's daughter, coming from an old and prestigious house, her will to be truthful to whoever is willing to take her… and the last token, if it comes to it.

Brienne looks around. It's odd that she still feels somehow familiar with Jaime's room. He kept his chamber almost the same since she left, a few more papers, a few more books. She tilts her head to read the titles, smiling at the fact that the ones she gave him over the years are the most worn, which means that he read those the most.

The young woman lets out a sigh. Jaime is taking long for that he demanded a meeting. He will most definitely earn himself a punch somewhere for making her wait like that. She sits down at her table, letting herself slump down on the chair. Brienne stems her knuckles against her cheeks, wriggling her nose. Her eyes drift over the table.

Jaime still can't keep things in order, she muses. At some point the table represents his jumbled mind, or so Brienne reckons. The letters are one huge heap, the parchments sticking out in all directions.

Brienne runs her fingertips absently over the parchments. She loves the sensation against her skin for some reason, just as she loves the smell of ink and paper. Brienne tilts her head as she looks at the seals. Her father made her learn the different seals and banners when she was still very young. Some are from Casterly Rock, bearing the lion, some are from Highgarden, with the rose she saw on a few letters Loras Tyrell sent out, some are from knights whose banner she doesn't come to know, a few are by the King himself… Brienne stops at one seal sticking out of the stack as though illuminated.

The young woman stares at her own seal. She frowns, feeling heat spreading throughout her, heat that burns cold. Jaime usually kept it in his chest pocket, for all she remembers, with the leather band and the pearl. Why is one of her letters there?

Brienne normally wouldn't dare to invade his privacy, but the sight of her seal tears away all those thoughts. She picks the parchment up, to check, only to check that it isn't…

She stares at her own handwriting, at the words she wrote when…

Brienne's hands now work on their own, digging through the heap of letters, sorting out those that bear her seal, the seals all split in two, her fingers shaking as she does. Once she has them all gathered and firmly pressed against her chest, she is to her feet at once and leaves the room in a hurry, feeling sick.

* * *

"Ah! Wench! There you are," Jaime says as he approaches her in one of the hallways. However, to his confusion, she says nothing, doesn't even look at him. Only now Jaime takes in that she already got changed for the ball, dressed in a finely executed dress with rich embroidery and heavy, dark blue velvet, hugging her body tightly, to the point that he is sure she can only take shallow breaths, a dress that, aside from the colour, resembles the garment that almost suffocated her during her father's funeral all too much.

"Oh, ugh… the dress… fits you well," he blurts out with a grimace.

"What do you want?" she asks, her voice so cold that it sends shivers up his spine. He can't remember that he said anything offensive to her. They busily talked during breakfast, laughed, bickered, nudged each other in the sides. It was one of the most enjoyable meals he has had in a long time.

"I just wanted to greet you – and asked myself if you didn't want to see the armoury. We just got in a few more swords that are marvellous and marvellously lethal, too," Jaime tilts his head.

In fact, he wants distract him and herself from what is about to happen this night, or at least likely going to happen tonight. Furthermore, Jaime thought that the armoury would bring out more of the old Brienne, the one who likes the dance of swords more than the dance of words, who would take a dagger over a flower any time. Because he'd like to see such a Brienne marrying someone, whoever the lucky bastard will be, instead of a Brienne that is hollowed out by her wish to fulfil her father's last will no matter the costs.

"I don't think so," she says through pursed lips.

"Did I say something wrong?" he grimaces.

"Indeed," she says, no longer able to contain her burning fury.

"I didn't notice. Look, if it's about last night or so…," Jaime means to say, but she interrupts him with a hiss, "No, nothing you said last night."

"Wench, you'll have to be a bit more specific," the knight grimaces.

"When I came to here for the ball, you said something to me which was apparently… _wrong_ ," she argues. Jaime's eyes wander around, still irritated.

"If something upsets you, you have to tell me straight away, you know how it is with me," Jaime argues. "So I can only apologise if I said something wrong to you. I didn't mean to upset you, you know that, right? As your friend."

"My friend?! My _friend_!" she suddenly cries out, no longer able to contain her anger.

"Well yes?" Jaime looks at her.

"Friends don't lie to each other," she brings out. Jaime still stares at her, trying to figure out what lie she might possible be referring to. However, before he can contemplate further about the matter, Brienne thrusts a stack of letters against his chest, "Perhaps you want to keep them in your chest pocket again. Or at least make the effort to hide them properly."

"What?" Jaime looks at her, not knowing what she means to tell him with this.

"You told me that you received none of my letters. And see what I found in your room," Brienne growls. "The seals were broken."

"Wench, by the Seven, I did not receive these letters," Jaime gapes at her, still trying to comprehend what is happening just now. Why was she in his room? And how did she find those letters in there?

"They are my letters and they were in your room. I really thought that you, at least, wouldn't lie to me, Jaime. I thought that you were the one person to always be honest to me," Brienne shakes her head, her eyes shimmering wetly, though her face is shadowed with anger and fury. "I thought I could trust you."

"Brienne, please, someone else must have done this!" Jaime argues.

"Who would?" she retorts. "Who would even know? The letters were always between us two."

"Brienne, I beg you, you _must_ believe me," Jaime argues vehemently.

"I think I believed you for too long," Brienne shakes her head. "I will see you later, at the ball."

She pushes past him forcefully to stomp off.

"Brienne!" Jaime cries after her, but she hurries away. The knight leans against the wall heavily, his fists clenching around the papers in his hands. Jaime glances at the parchments, his fingers numb.

He never saw these letters before, but they have her seal, and they are split in halves.

Jaime bites his lower lip as he starts to read.

* * *

 _Dear Jaime,_

 _I don't know what I am supposed to do anymore. My family still tries to take over. After my Father's last will was announced, I thought that my position would be secured, but it seemingly is only the case once I manage to have an heir, and for as long as that didn't happen, they all pull me in different directions. For as long as I cannot have an heir, they still have claims on Tarth. And the parasites shouldn't be anywhere close to rule. You saw them. You witnessed them. They are no good people._

 _I don't know what I can do to stop them, though._

 _I can't beat them with my sword._

 _I feel defenceless._

 _What am I supposed to do?_

 _What would **you** do?_

 _I hope you get this soon – and I hope you are in good health._

 _Until then,_

 _Brienne_

* * *

 _Jaime,_

 _My Father is in Tarth's soil now for no more than a few moons, and the advisors keep telling me that our family lineage is in dire danger if I don't find myself a husband to have an heir with._

 _Maester Duvall goes as far as to say that I may be incapable of bearing children if I wait for much longer._

 _He didn't put it exactly like that, but he implied that I might be sick or so, so that I can't have children, which means that I can't fulfil my Father's last will. He also pointed out to me that it might run in the family that children die still young, as my sisters did._

 _But there is no treatment for that, other than acting fast, but... but there is no one._

 _I can't fulfil my oaths._

 _Maester Duvall said that maybe I am infertile already, which is why I am supposed to find myself a husband ever the faster, but no one... wants me._

 _I knew that the day would come, but not at all that suddenly._

 _Just as I didn't think it'd suddenly pose a threat to me when it doesn't work._

 _Please write me back if you find the time._

 _Brienne_

* * *

 _Jaime,_

 _I still did not receive any reply from you._

 _Are you alright?_

 _Did something happen to you?_

 _I hope that you just forgot to answer or that the mail was lost._

 _Please be alright._

* * *

 _Did you hear from Tyrion?_

 _Is he ill by any chance?_

 _Because he doesn't write me back either, or so it seems._

 _Please, answer me._

 _I cannot leave Tarth at the moment, because of politics. I try my best to rule my Father's isles to the best of my abilities, but nothing seems to help. I cut ties to many merchants because they are obscure if not completely corrupt. They steal money and went after women in the towns, for all I know. No one seems to care, however. I am constantly told that this is by no means what I should do._

 _I am just trying to protect my people. I try to serve Tarth. Is that so wrong?_

 _I still don't have a husband, or anyone willing to ask for my hand. Maester Duvall and the others say that if this carries on, steps will have to be taken to pave the way for the parasites to take over._

 _Because they have spouses... and heirs._

 _I am stuck here, Jaime. I can only write to you, but for that you have to write me back._

 _Please, Jaime, answer me._

* * *

 _Ever since I asked to be released from my service to Renly, I haven't heard from him personally._

 _Do you think he hates me?_

 _Do you think he regrets that he ever let me join his army?_

 _Gods, does the entire world hate me?_

* * *

 _I can't sleep._

 _My mind is blank lately._

 _I don't know what to do with myself._

 _I feel like one of the frail maidens, just that I'm too ugly for it._

* * *

 _I don't know who I am anymore._

 _I am no sword._

 _I am no lady._

 _What am I but a daughter of Tarth?_

 _The last daughter of Tarth?_

* * *

 _Did I upset you in any way?_

 _Why don't you write to me?_

 _If you are mad at me for some reason, Jaime, please tell me what is wrong._

 _If it is about the cave, I apologise. I take it back - if you want. I don't know. I just... I just want to talk to my best friend._

 _I don't have anyone to talk to._

 _I don't have anyone anymore._

* * *

 _Jaime!_

 _What is going on in King's Landing?_

 _I heard rumours about what happened between you and the King._

 _Are you alright?_

 _I would come to King's Landing, but I can't leave at the moment._

 _Please, just let me know that you are alright._

* * *

 _I can't put my armour down anymore._

* * *

 _I feel like suffocating._

* * *

 _Can you come to Tarth by any chance?_

 _Please?_

 _Or at least write back?_

 _I don't know what happened to you during the Rebellion._

 _People keep telling me stories I don't dare believe until I heard them from you._

 _So write to me, so I can understand._

* * *

 _I am desperate._

 _I am alone._

* * *

 _I never thought the day would come, but I need someone to help me._

 _And there is no one other than you._

* * *

 _Where are you, Jaime?_

* * *

 _Where?_

* * *

 _By the Gods, if you hate me that much, then have at least the guts to write it for once, so that I can stop bothering with scribbling on parchments no one will ever read._

 _I took you for more of a man._

 _Maybe I was mistaken._

 _I just hope for you that you found your happiness, which seems to be that good that you forget all about me._

 _I will stop writing to you following this letter._

 _I won't be a bother anymore._

 _I suppose I was just too dull once more not to realise the signs that someone wanted to step out of my life._

 _Dumb goose that I am._

 _Dumb goose that I am, asking for help, asking **you** for help._

 _But perhaps I am just too selfish, asking for your support, knowing your other responsibilities, your oaths._

 _I don't know anymore._

 _I don't know anything anymore, other than that I am alone and that I seemingly have to find a way to deal with it._

 _And so I will._

 _I will always hold our friendship dear, no matter what happens, but… I suppose it is now a thing of the past._

 _It was the most wonderful thing I had for as long as it lasted._

 _I hope you are happy, Jaime._

 _Goodbye._

 _Brienne_

* * *

Jaime stares at the papers in shock, his entire being crumbling from the inside out. He can hear Brienne's croaked voice inside his head, he can feel her tears now on his cheek. All this time she reached out to him, and he kept away from her.

However, that is when his body snaps out of the stasis and moves forward again. He hurries over to her chamber, meaning to open the door at once, but the door won't open.

The door is suddenly closed.

It's locked.

For a moment, the realisation leaves him stunned.

Her door has never been locked for him until now.

"Brienne!" he cries out, for the first time in his life knocking on her door. "Brienne, please, open the door. I have to talk to you."

"Just go away," he can hear her curse.

"Brienne, I didn't receive those letters. Someone must have put them there," Jaime tries, suddenly very desperate. He doesn't even care if someone saw and heard him now crying out to the wench behind closed doors. For that this is too important.

"Brienne, c'mon, let me inside so we can talk," he begs.

"No one knew about these letters beside from us and Tyrion," he can hear her say in a croaked voice.

"Brienne, I promise by the old Gods and the new that I didn't put them there," Jaime insists.

"Just go away," Brienne tells him. "Please."

"Brienne," he tries once more.

" _Please_ ," she whimpers this time, with such desperation that Jaime's knees go weak for a moment. He knows that it takes a lot to bring her to the point. And she is way past it.

"Alright, I… I will go for now," Jaime turns around, running a hand over his face. "But I didn't get those letters. I didn't. I really didn't."

He rushes off to seek out Tyrion thereafter, whom he gladly finds mere minutes later.

"Tyrion!" he yells to make the younger man stop and turn to him.

"What is the matter with you?" Tyrion grimaces at his distressed looking brother.

"These here," Jaime replies, taking out the letters which almost forced his eyes out of their sockets. "Those are the letters Brienne sent me, the ones that never reached me."

"Where did you find them?" Tyrion asks, taking them from him, his eyes scanning the pages already.

"I didn't find them. Brienne did, but in my room, or so I understood. I don't know how they ended up there. You know that I never had them," Jaime says. "Someone put them there to upset her, or so I reckon."

"By the Gods," Tyrion mutters, still looking at the cries of help that no one received until it was way too late. "Have you told her that?"

"Yes, but she won't listen to me. She's locked herself up in her chamber and won't talk to me," Jaime replies nervously. "I thought it would be bad enough to see her at the ball, selling herself like some cattle, but this is by far worse."

"By the Gods, can't people just cut her a break," Tyrion grunts, a hand to his forehead.

"Can't you talk to her? She might listen to you after all," Jaime says, licking his lips.

"It might be for the best," the younger man agrees.

"Then let's go," Jaime urges him. Tyrion is short up behind him as they make their way over to Brienne's chamber. Tyrion goes ahead to knock on the door, "My dearest Lady of them all? May I have a quick word with you?"

However, there is no reply. Jaime grimaces, but then opens the door – and this time it opens. The two walk inside to find the room empty.

"Gods!" Jaime cries out. "She seriously went ahead to hide from me."

If she is hurt, Brienne is like a wounded animal. She only works on instinct, Jaime knows. And in that situation, her instinct is likely only set on fleeing, running away from that pain.

"She will show up for the ball the latest, I am sure," Tyrion argues in a strangely calm voice.

"How is that supposed to be a reassurance?" Jaime grimaces.

"It's not. It's just logical," the younger man shrugs.

"If one of the men approached her now, she will readily take him into her arms, however vile and bad he might be, if only to defy me," Jaime argues.

"True," Tyrion agrees with a grimace. "Are you aware of the implication of…?"

"Cersei was the only one beside you who knew about these letters," Jaime grimaces. "But I can't focus on her now. I have to see about Brienne."

"Good," Tyrion huffs. "It took you long enough to realise that she doesn't do this to do Brienne a favour."

"As you always underline, I am the stupidest of the Lannister children," Jaime exhales.

"Still you managed one of the smartest things any of us ever did, though," Tyrion says as they walk down the hallways to the ballroom.

"Which would be?" Jaime grimaces, eyes focused ahead.

"Becoming Brienne's best friend," his younger brother says simply.

And Jaime can only silently agree, hoping that this choice was not closed like the door to Brienne's chamber.

To her.


	31. Ball

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around ;)

I hope ya'll enjoy the chapter despite the drama ;)

* * *

And so, Jaime and Tyrion find themselves on enemy turf, to give it a name, a whole bunch of women and men roaming the ballroom like flies and mosquitoes, chatting, flirting, drinking wine, eating grapes out of each other's hands, exchanging glances and smiles, fluttering around like ladybugs.

Jaime knows he should be used to such a display by now, but it just makes him sick right now. He went looking for the wench all around the Red Keep, but he couldn't spot her anywhere. So now he has to do something he is most definitely not good at – "wait and see what happens", as Tyrion said.

"Where is she?" Jaime grumbles, chewing his lower lip nervously.

"Ah, over there!" his younger brother says at last, nodding to one of the corners where Brienne stands at last, arms folded over her flat chest, features grim. Even from over here Jaime can see the tremor in her hands.

"I should talk to her first," Tyrion suggests. "You have an eye on any man that looks… _shady_."

Jaime grimaces. For some reason, he finds them all shady right now.

"My dearest Lady of the all!" Tyrion greets Brienne as he walks up to her.

"Tyrion," she nods at him slowly. "I reckon your brother talked to you."

"In fact," Tyrion agrees.

"If you want to tell me now how I got it all wrong, just spare me the conversation, Tyrion, please," she breathes. "I… I have to focus on this here now."

Because that is all that matters, she sees it now again.

Even those letters don't matter.

Nothing else matters.

That is what she realised once she had found herself a suitable hiding place outside the Red Keep, had drawn her knees to her chest as she sat back against a wall, and tried her best to control her tears. Her Lord Renly had told her once that the nasty little shits who dared to mock her were not worth crying over. While the realisation dawned on her by now that Jaime did not put these letters there to mock her, or put them there in the first place, the even more painful realisation was so straightforward that she pedalled backward against the wall.

That it really doesn't matter at all.

"Brienne," he grimaces.

"You know that I have to do this – because you understand the political dimension, in contrast to Jaime. He thinks with his heart, not his head. This might be my only shot, Tyrion," she tells him. "And you know it."

"We all know that this is not what you want, though," Tyrion argues.

"But it's what I have to do," she argues solemnly.

"Brienne, don't do that to yourself, alright? I understand the political dimension, I do better than most people, but I also understand the personal dimension, being your friend. Jaime never got your letters, and neither did I. Someone tricked us," Tyrion goes on. "And I reckon that you have a vague idea who is likely involved into all this."

"It doesn't matter," she insists.

"Why doesn't it matter?" he questions.

"Because I am on a market he is not. Because letters don't change my Father's last will. Because it is a matter of the past now, and only the present matters. Because I have to think of Tarth now, and Tarth needs an heir," she says in a steady voice, though it quivers towards the end. "An heir by a man who can rule Tarth along with me."

Tyrion stares at her. He was always astonished at Brienne's bluntness that could be very sharp after all, and right now, he is bound to admit that her argument is more than just the pointy end of the sword. It is so dead-on that it stabs right through flesh and bone.

"This is not about us three," Brienne breathes. "It's about doing the right thing."

"Just that it's not right to you," Tyrion tries once more.

"Right is to fulfil one's oaths. Mine is to serve my people," she replies, offering the smallest and saddest of smiles. "So it is the right thing to me. Letters don't change anything about that, intercepted, lost, or found by whoever. Oaths are more important than any of us."

"Brienne," Tyrion grimaces, but she just shakes her head, "I have to fulfil mine, so if you excused me?"

She walks past him over to a few girls from the entourage with whom she arrived. Tyrion makes his way back over to Jaime, shaking his head.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Jaime asks, licking his lips, waiting for Tyrion to introduce his new plan.

Because Tyrion is always the one to come up with a plan.

"Maybe we have to… let her," his brother then says, to which Jaime whips his head around in shock, "You can't mean that."

Where is the plan?

Where is the smug and all-knowing grin?

"I told you before, Jaime. She needs a husband," Tyrion argues.

"She doesn't need one, she feels forced to find herself one," Jaime insists.

"Which leads to the same result," Tyrion shrugs. "We have had this conversation before, and as much as it pains me, _really_ pains me, Brienne makes a case in point when she says that even the letters don't change anything about this situation. She wants to fulfil her oaths. You know the very best how much they mean to her. And if her oath is to fulfil her service to Tarth by virtue of bearing an heir from a nobleman who can help her with Tarth's politics, then who are we to hold her back?"

"Her friends," Jaime insists.

"Be honest with yourself, brother, do we want to disrupt her plans for her own sake or because we don't want to let her go?" Tyrion exhales.

"What? Of course it is for her own sake. She doesn't understand that this will destroy her. She doesn't see that this has been staged," Jaime argues vehemently.

"She _does_ see that," Tyrion shrugs. "Brienne insists that she is not smart, but she has a good sense for bad people. She knows that her hands are forced in more than one way."

"And still she wants to do this here," Jaime argues vehemently.

"Because she puts the letters aside, to focus on her mission, let's say," Tyrion exhales. "It's not that I like it, you know it, but I understand her point. I do."

"So you mean to tell me that we are just supposed to watch that happen?" Jaime questions.

Is he supposed to stand by as she throws herself into the stormy sea?

"Maybe we really have to let her go, and do what she finds the proper means to fulfil her oaths," Tyrion goes on. "However much that might cost her."

"Never," Jaime spats. "Not like this."

Tyrion bows his head, trying his best to hide the small sad smile creeping up his lips.

Knights are really blood foolish.

"Maybe I should try to talk to her another time," Jaime bites his lower lip.

He can't just yield.

It might be that he didn't fight for her before, but she is right over there. He could grasp the hem of her dress. That means he must protect her, from herself if he has to.

"If you think she'll listen to you," Tyrion shrugs. Jaime doesn't need another word and walks over to Brienne while Tyrion busies himself getting himself some wine to numb his worries.

Jaime reaches her at last, the girls, sensing the anger he seems to radiate, and make space for him wordlessly. However, then sapphire eyes fall on him, and she makes no space for him at all.

"Brienne," he looks at her, but she just means to turn away, "No."

He grabs her by the arm. She wriggles against his grip, but he holds on, "Wench, please, just one minute, c'mon."

She growls, but then turns to face him, suddenly seeming so much taller than she is by nature.

"What do you want?" he grits her teeth.

"Someone put the letters there on purpose, please, believe me that much. You know me, Brienne, you know that I would have come to you, had I known," Jaime begs her. Maybe if she understands that it wasn't his doing will she listen to him and leave this room, will stop thinking of herself as some good she has to toss on the market to get whatever price someone is willing to pay.

"Do you think it matters?" she looks at him with huge eyes.

"Well, you are mad at me, so…," Jaime makes a face, but she interrupts him before he gets to finish, "None of this matters, Jaime. The only thing that matters is this here. I have to think about Tarth and its people and how to make sure that the parasites don't get to consume the isles my Father built up for all his life. This is not about you. This is not about me. This is just about politics, about my Father's legacy, so just leave me alone and let me fulfil my duties."

He mustn't take up that much of her life anymore.

Maester Duvall told her several times, and even if she doesn't like him and wants him gone, he was right with that, or so it appears.

She told herself ever the more.

She can't keep him like that. She can't keep him in a golden birdcage to marvel at him from a safe distance.

She can't keep him as her sweet little maybe because there are no maybes anymore. There is just the ugly reality in which politics matter more than ideals, where marriage is more important than love could ever be.

And the dumb goose she will seemingly always be, Brienne developed those deep feelings for the one man she may never have, who is bound by his oaths, and by his other half.

Who can open her doors any time, but who can only be himself behind closed doors, or so it seems.

Yet, it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter for as long as she lets go now, before it's too late.

For as long as she shuts the door this time and for all times still to come.

She can still have a life that matters, if only to the people she swore service to. She can give them the security of an heir, and a ruler beside her who may not love her, but who will bring Tarth to prosper, or at least be bound up by a marriage contract that will secure her people.

She is the sword of Tarth, and not the sword of Ser Jaime Lannister.

So maybe it serves a good cause in the end that she found those letters, because they forced the words left unspoken for so long right into her mouth to spill out of the cave, out of the chamber, into the world.

"Brienne," Jaime begs her, shock still shaking his bones.

"The minute is over," she hisses before she walks away, leaving Jaime standing there, feeling dizzy.

Are they all right in the end?

Is it simply the case that this doesn't matter? That they don't matter?

And why does that burn like Wildfire the same way it did when he stabbed his King?

Jaime finds his mind and body drifting until he harbours next to his brother, watching on as Brienne throws herself into the open sea of politics as she awkwardly tries to talk to the men who didn't yet set eyes on the pretty girls around.

"So… I will have to watch my best friend throwing her life away for the sake of people who didn't even like her at first," Jaime breathes, eyes fixed on the two sapphires which try to avert him the best they can. "Is that it? Is that really it?"

"I am still trying to figure out which one is not the worst of all men here to introduce her to him, but they are all rather shady in my opinion, but then again… what man isn't?" Tyrion huffs.

"None of them deserve her," he grunts.

She is all that good while the world is all that bad.

"No, definitely not," Tyrion exhales.

"Whom is she talking to now?" Jaime tilts his head.

"Shit," Tyrion curses.

"What?" Jaime asks in a demanding voice.

"That's Dorian Styde, a man from the Northern regions," Tyrion explains. "Rumour has it that he has a whole bunch of bastard children he sells into slavery as he pleases, so no real good father-material, let's say. Father would surely like him for it. Not to mention that he sought the hands of many women already, in the hope to get a morsel of their wealth. He is so old and still a bachelor because he feeds at their tables, throwing a few compliments, or so I heard, until the women are either fed up with him or he is. It's whispered that he also likes to steal out of the treasuries before he goes. I reckon that he wants to find someone who can provide him to his last days, because he can definitely no longer impress with his looks. You and Brienne like to refer to her family as 'parasites'. He is the parasite of parasites."

"How do you know?" Jaime frowns at the younger Lannister, who looks at him, "How do you not?"

"What do I do now?" Jaime asks, looking at Brienne, who seems relieved to the point that her knees shake that finally someone talks to her and doesn't constantly tilt his head or crane his neck to glance at the much prettier display roaming the ballroom.

"That depends on whether or not you wish to intervene her plans," Tyrion shrugs.

"She'd hate me for it," Jaime grimaces.

"She would, yes," Tyrion shrugs. "As I said. You either intervene, or you let her go and leave her to the fate she chooses for herself."

Jaime licks his lips before he sucks his lower lip into his mouth, struggling, wriggling inside his own mind.

Does it even matter if she hates him?

Or isn't the only matter that she will hate herself if she throws herself into the arms of someone like Dorian Styde? That she sells herself cheap on a market she shouldn't be on, because she will always be priceless?

Jaime strides forward over to the two chatting before his mind can finish the thought. He keeps a bit of distance, studies the man with a yellow gleam in his eyes. Brienne tries her best to be charming, or so it seems, talking about the prospects of Tarth and the great man her father was, the only attributes she thinks are worth enough to put to display. Jaime can see her pinching her sides in nervousness and dread. Her waist will be blue and green by morning if she keeps going like that.

She is really set on nothing but this.

She is set on anything but herself.

And it makes Jaime sick, so very sick.

Jaime forces himself into the conversation fluidly, something that he learned to perfect over the years of service under royals and as a royal himself, like a goddamn snake, but he doesn't really care if he is a snake or a lion right now.

"Ah, Lady Brienne, I have been looking for you," he says in a feigned cheery voice. Brienne frowns at him. "And you must be Dorian Styde, yes?"

"Yes. And you are Ser Jaime Lannister, correct?" the man asks.

"That's the name," Jaime winks at him. Brienne pulls close enough for only him to hear her mutters, "What in the Seven Hells are you doing?!"

"Keeping you from making the biggest mistake of your life," Jaime whispers, the grin instantly washed off his face as he looks at her, leaving the tall woman stunned.

He made up his mind.

He won't let her do that.

He won't let her destroy herself, even if that means he has to destroy what they have.

She will hate him about as much as he hates himself for it, but he can't let her succumb to a possible marriage to a man who will only help her destruction further.

"Did you know that Lady Brienne and I know each other since we were just that small? I bet you'd be delighted to hear some funny stories from her past, right?"

* * *

Tyrion, meanwhile, sought out the Queen, who is busily chatting with a bunch of women, giggling and tousling their hair, seemingly trying to win the Queen's favour.

"Your Grace, may I have a quick word with you?" the youngest Lannister asks. Cersei flashes an apologetic smile, "I will be right back with you."

She follows him to the corner of the room to have some privacy.

"What is it?" she exhales.

"Did you withhold the letters?" Tyrion questions.

"What letters?" she tilts her head.

"The letters between Jaime and Brienne," he replies, his eyes narrow slits. "You, along with me, were one of the few people who knew about that."

"I thought they were lost?" she shrugs.

"Curiously enough, they resurfaced today, right on Jaime's studies for Brienne to find," Tyrion retorts. "After _someone_ , and it _wasn't_ Jaime, had her come to his chamber."

"What is it to me if they write to each other or not?" she huffs.

"Oh, I don't know, that your bedding companion is no longer your plaything alone?" he mumbles.

"Watch your tongue," he hisses in a low voice.

"And you watch your _forked_ tongue," he huffs, unimpressed.

"I didn't put them there," she says.

"So it wasn't your intention that she'd be angry with him?" Tyrion asks.

"I don't care about the giant cow," Cersei replies.

"And here I thought you felt oh so much pity for her," Tyrion snorts, but then catches himself. "In any case, I can't help but wonder about one more thing."

" _Please_ , I am _aching_ to hear it," she rolls her green eyes.

"Did you or did you not plan on Jaime doing what he does right now?" the younger Lannister questions. Cersei frowns, tilting her head to the side to see Jaime ghosting around Brienne and one of the suitors, Lord Styde if she is not mistaken.

"And what does he do?" she grimaces, though the realisation seems to dawn on her already.

"Being way too bull-headed to let Brienne marry someone who is no match to her, and frankly speaking, none of the guests you invited is," Tyrion replies.

"How would I ever plan such a thing?" she sighs. "Which is not to say that I did, because I don't see how that serves any purpose."

"Exactly, because I see someone who deeply cares about another person chasing after her, even if that means she will hate him for it," Tyrion says.

"You mean to say?" she licks her lips.

"I can't imagine that this would be your intention," he huffs.

"I have no intentions whatsoever," she insists with a roll of her shoulders.

"It's curious how far men go for those they love," Tyrion replies, his voice trailing off.

"And you know what's even more curious?" she replies. "How far women go for those they love."

She leaves without another word thereafter, returns to her seat – and gulps down half a cup of wine in one swig. Tyrion has to hide a small grin.

No, she didn't expect that to happen.

Because that is the tragic yet curious thing about playing cards: If you play against those who don't know how the game is played, you are exposed to the unforeseeable.

And Jaime and Brienne, honourable knights in spirit, never gamble or play cards.

However, Tyrion knows that this is by no means victory.

In fact, it will likely lead to them all losing, but at last… Cersei will lose, too, if only a bit.

Tyrion gulps down the rest of his wine and motions at one of the cupbearers for a refill.

Aren't they all just mad animals holding cards between their paws in the end?

* * *

Jaime still forces his mouth to form words the way he needs it, though by no means the way he wants it, because with every smug smile he feels more like the culprit stabbing her from behind, feels more like a Kingslayer than ever.

Just that now he feels like a Friendslayer.

He muttered to her time and time again to let go of this man who is seemingly deaf and blind not to realise their fight, but that only made the wench try ever the harder. Her mulish antics shall be damned! Even the muttered warning of the Lord being corrupt did nothing to break Brienne's determination to stay in conversation with the one man who approached her throughout the ball.

To Jaime's surprise, Lord Styde is really one to see past conventional aesthetic taste, since his eyes almost seem to explode in glee whenever Brienne talks about politics and Tarth's trading routes.

At some point Jaime fails to understand how Brienne threw all of her self-made promises and reassurances overboard as she gives any impression that she is merely trying to sell herself to the one man in a ballroom who doesn't seem to care about her looks.

When the man starts to talk about marriage and how linking houses can increase income and secure lands, and Brienne straightens up, body as tensed as a longbow, Jaime snaps his head back around.

Now or never.

And while he would rather choose the never, he knows that only the now matters.

"… Did she already mention to you that she was betrothed three times already?" Jaime says, having to force the air out of his ribcage as though it was cut into solid blocks.

" _Three_ times?" the man looks at her almost shocked.

"Yes, when I was still very young," Brienne replies, chewing her lower lip.

Why does he do this to her?

It's enough to have Jaime linger around her as she tries her best not to blush like a stupid, foolish freak, telling her to stop doing what she came here for. That he tells embarrassing stories of both their childhood. That he drops implications about an amorous tale between the two when still young to the Lord's feet to make him withdraw from her. That even the jabs in the side she gave Jaime when Lord Styde was distracted for a moment did not make him retreat. But it's even worse to have him bring up her betrothals.

Lord Styde might well be her last chance before she has to toss the token.

And Brienne doesn't want to toss the token.

She wants to keep that much pride.

That last morsel of honour.

 _Please_.

Brienne doesn't even realise that she is pinching herself again, though she would rather pinch Jaime, hard enough to make him shriek like a goddamn dame.

"The first died in the cold. They were truly children back then. Young, sweet, innocent. She wasn't even a woman yet. Tragic really," Jaime shakes his head. "Had he not died, the Lady would be wedded to him in years now."

"Jaime," she warns him under her breath, but the knight goes on, "Then came the second. Ser Ronnet Connington. Now imagine what he did to break off the betrothal?"

"I don't think that he is very interested in hearing that old story," Brienne argues, her fingers flexing.

She wants to punch him to make him stop.

She feels like begging him to make him stop.

"Oh, it's an interesting story, though. Now imagine her, still a girl, about that high, wearing men's clothes, and the Ser, upon seeing her for the first time after she had been promised to him, had no better to do than to throw a rose to her feet to tell her that this was the only thing she'd get of him," Jaime goes on, knowing that he runs a dagger through her at this very second, and while he knows how to keep his face in a smile, his hands tremble.

If only she yielded.

If only she just left the room, to spare them both.

"Oh, that is awful," the man grimaces at her rather sympathetically.

"It is, isn't it? And do you know what brought him to such action? They had him wrongly informed about her looks!" Jaime goes on.

Another stab to her that he feels tenfold aching in his own body.

While Brienne leaves physical bruises on herself, he adds invisible stab wounds that will likely never heal.

"Stop," she whispers, trying to contain herself.

"I stop if you let go of him," Jaime mutters back, the smile fading out of his face once more, Lord Styde still stunned by the stories. But Brienne sets her feet firmly on the ground.

Why does he tear that bit of armour she has left down?

Why does he keep stabbing her?

Why can't he let her go?

Why doesn't he understand that she will never yield?

"Yes, she was so ugly to him that he couldn't bear it!" Jaime goes on, forcing the smile into his face, though it hurts his muscles, clenching his fists to the point that he can feel sticky crescents in his palm.

"Jaime," she warns him, her voice quivering this time.

And it breaks him, it does.

But still, she won't leave, still she won't run.

The wench is seemingly incapable of yielding.

"And then came her third betrothal. This time she broke it off, by breaking him," Jaime says, licking his lips.

"Jaime," Brienne tries once more, her voice failing her.

"Ser Humfrey Wagstaff, a seasoned man, very set in his ways. He thought he could put her in a dress and teach her a 'woman's place'. The dear Lady taught him the lesson painfully clearly that this was not her place to occupy. A duel later and the man laid there crying, with broken bones and honour. But that is seemingly how she treats every man who thinks he can tell her what to do. She makes them eat dust. I experienced it first-hand, several times, for I was always a brat, ready for a tease. Did you know that she also duelled in melees? She almost won against me, a few years back," Jaime says, delivering the last blow it takes for the seasoned man to look at her with wide eyes, withdrawing, "… It was very nice meeting you, Milady. I will see you later, maybe."

And that maybe means 'never'.

Jaime stands still as Brienne pours her drink over his head wordlessly, pushing his head forward to almost make him stumble.

He knows he deserves it.

He would rather have her stab him instead of him stabbing her with invisible daggers.

However, at last, she leaves the room in a hurry and Jaime dares to let out a breath he must have been holding ever since the festivity started. Jaime finds his brother standing on the other side of the ballroom, glancing at him with understanding sympathy and sadness. Tyrion knows why Jaime does it, and while he is not yet sure if it is for a good cause, he understands that Jaime has to act that way.

Jaime gives a small nod before he leaves the room as well.

Tyrion glances at Cersei as she sips her wine with narrowed eyes.

At least they are not the only stupid animals losing in this game of cards.

Jaime finds Brienne making her way down the corridors, stomping her feet so hard that her feet must be numb by now.

"Brienne!" he calls out to her, but she keeps walking, if she doesn't speed up. Jaime picks up speed until he catches up to her after all, "Brienne, please."

"Just leave me alone," she hisses, not looking at him.

"Brienne, I didn't do this to hurt you. I just…," he means to say, but she retorts angrily, "But you hurt me anyway! Even if it wasn't your intention!"

"I just don't want you to sell yourself that cheap. You deserve better," he argues.

"And since I deserve so much better you publicly disgrace me?!" she yells.

"I did that to make sure that you don't give in to someone like Dorian Styde. He's old, and Tyrion said that he is anything but a good man. He wouldn't ever be you a good husband, just as he wouldn't be Tarth a good ruler," Jaime argues.

"I don't have the luxury of choice, Jaime! He was the one man who talked to me during the ball! I am ugly, I am not getting younger, I am a man living in a woman's body, and I am dumb beyond reason, or so it seems, not to mention that little time from now I will likely no longer be able to bear children, as you should know from the letters, whether or not you received them before or only read them through today," she hisses.

Jaime grabs her arm to make her stop running. She clenches her fist, staring at his hand.

She just can't take it anymore.

"I only cared for you to never betray me, but you did! You did _tonight_! Because in contrast to me, you keep others from fulfilling their oaths! And I thought, foolishly believed that you understood that by now! But you don't understand what it means to be an honourable man!" she cries out.

"You think it's honourable to let my best friend doom herself?!" he yells back.

"If it is her oath, then yes!" she retorts.

"Brienne," he breathes.

"Why couldn't you just let me go? Why can't you, even now?" she mutters, tears now standing in her eyes. "Why couldn't you let me go without stabbing me in the back first?"

Jaime bows his head, thinking of the words that hit him deeper than daggers, bringing the Mad King's laughter back into his ears, trying to gather some kind of thought, but his mind is swimming, drowning in Wildfire.

"You keep your oaths, I keep mine. I will find myself someone. I have another plan, so don't you worry," she hisses.

She will have to toss in the last token.

So be it.

Because really nothing matters.

Nothing.

"What do you mean?" he frowns at her.

"That's not your concern," she says, blinking. "I am no longer of your concern."

"Brienne, please," he mutters, meaning to extend his other hand to her, but she tears off her hands at once, "No! I will return home, tonight! And I hope for you that you are smart enough not to follow me, or else I will put a dagger through your pretty eyes! You can't have it all, accept it! I won't die an old maiden just because you seemingly can't bear to see me married to someone else! You made an oath, so don't you dare judge me for making the one oath I still have open!"

Jaime blinks, dizzy, "Brienne."

"You made an oath, and it was for the sake of your other half, too," she then says, leaving Jaime staring. "We both know that in years, though I dared to believe back then that your intention was spurred by your true wish to be a knight. But I think I see it now ever the clearer. She put the letters there for me to find, and that is something only a woman does who is jealous, who wants to keep another person away from what is hers."

She understands it now. After she saw the letters and the realisation dawned on her that someone meant to put a wedge between him and her, Brienne saw it, shining out of the tears dancing on her lashes. It is still the old tale of a forbidden love she liked to push into the back of her head in favour of her escape into a small maybe, be it in dim candlelight when still youths, on the night before his departure, or the day she let all defences fall in a cave. Brienne knew, she always did, and perhaps that is why fortune serves her so much evil right now, because she knew and still went on to kiss him back, dared to get lost in his embrace.

"And it wouldn't matter to me if you just let me go! But no, you have to destroy me first! My oaths! The one thing I have left! You pull and push on both ends because you can't bear it that you don't get to own me! You are a bloody spoilt Lannister spawn after all! Because you aren't satisfied until you have everything you wanted, but not with me," she says, tears standing in her eyes. "You really deserve your name as the Kingslayer, the backstabber you are!"

And both know that it's nothing but a lie, this last statement. For that, it's filled with too much pain.

Jaime simply grabs her, since he can't let go, can't let her slip away, "Brienne, please, just let me explain it to you, then…"

However, it is only in that instant that he becomes conscious of the fact that her strength returns to her at once as she pushes him backwards mightily, so hard that he stumbles, his foot catching on one of the tiles, and crashes with the back of his head against the wall behind him. Jaime slides down, his sight pulsating, drifting between bright sapphire blue and black.

Brienne stands there, perplex, her hands shaking.

She truly is a ghost, a vengeful spirit haunting this place.

"I am sorry," is all she manages to say before she hurries away. Jaime blinks as she disappears from his sight, her name dying on his lips as darkness claims him.

* * *

"Jaime? Jaime! Jaime!"

The knight lets out a groan as he pries his eyes open, his vision a milky blur.

"Wha…," he breathes. "Brienne?"

"Sorry, no," is the reply. Jaime starts to make out contours until he can see his brother looking at him with worry and distress. "So don't expect me to kiss you to wake you up."

Jaime blinks a few more times, shaking his head, running his palm over the back of his scalp, glad not to find any stickiness other than that from the wine, which means that he will only have a small bump as a reminder.

"What in the Seven Hells happened?" Tyrion asks.

"Where's Brienne?" Jaime asks instead, shaking the last bit of dizziness out of his head. He still leans propped up against the wall… oh right, the wall she pushed him against to get away from him.

"Gone," the younger Lannister replies.

"What?! To where? When?" Jaime demands.

"I sent for her once we found you here. Pod went to the port. One of the sailors said that he saw her pay a bunch of dragons to have a small boat sail, presumably back to Tarth," Tyrion replies.

"She's left?" Jaime blinks at him.

"Yes," Tyrion nods solemnly.

"Who sails by night?" Jaime asks, still trying to wrap his head around this.

"As I said, someone who is out for money. I bet she gave them all she had to make them sail. She left a note for her entourage in the room to send the stuff after her to Tarth," the youngest Lannister tells him. "So now, explain to me how it came to this here."

"I tried to talk to her," Jaime says. "But we had a fight and… I grabbed her, she pushed me back. I tripped and hit my head against the wall to knock myself out."

"So she didn't just knock you out?" Tyrion asks.

"No, she didn't mean for it to happen," is the gruff reply he gets. Even though Jaime's mind was clouded by that time already, he heard the mumbled apology, he could hear the distress she had in her eyes. "And even if it was, she's had any reason to."

"True," Tyrion grimaces. "She's told her maid to seek out Pod to see after you short before she left, but by the time Pod found you, she was gone to the port already."

Jaime flashes the smallest of smiles. Even in that situation she cares about him.

"She hates me," he breathes.

"Do you blame her?" Tyrion asks. Jaime just shakes his head, "Maybe it serves me right in the end… it's the risk I took, I guess."

Maybe _that_ is the punishment for his sins.

"Now, c'mon, let's get you up," Tyrion exhales. "Pod? Help him. I won't get him up far without serving as a source of comic relief."

"Of course," Podrick replies, bending down to help Jaime to his feet. He staggers for a moment, but soon regains his balance. "It's alright now, thank you, Pod. I can walk on my own."

"Do you want to see Maester Pycelle about your head?" Tyrion asks.

"I think that head is beyond repair anyways," Jaime huffs.

"Then what do you want to do?" Tyrion asks, but Jaime already walks ahead.

"Jaime!" his twin's voice rings out.

Jaime tries hard not to roll his eyes.

He can't deal with this now, just like can't deal with seeing his sin in front of him, the sin Brienne at last accused him of and called him upon.

The sin that seemingly cost him his friendship at last.

"What happened to you?" she asks.

"Nothing, I… fell," Jaime replies.

"It was the giant cow, wasn't it?" she hisses. "Oh, I should…"

"Don't bother, she's left," Jaime replies.

"What?" she frowns, perplex.

"She took off with a ship, back to Tarth, I reckon," Jaime shrugs.

"Oh, that comes as a surprise," she grimaces, for once seemingly honest in her shock.

"I bet you are _inconsolable_ ," he huffs. She looks at him stunned.

"So would you…," Jaime exhales, gesturing at her to let him pass.

"Don't you think you should see the Maester?" she asks. "Or shall I have him summoned for you?"

"Leave it," he hisses.

"Jaime," she blinks at him, grabbing his arm, but he swats her hand away roughly.

"Just leave _me_ alone!" he growls, pushing past her.

Tyrion, Podrick next to him, walks past her as well, though he stops right next to her once, "It appears that even a Queen can't foresee everything. How unfortunately fortunate."

She turns around to glance at him over her shoulder, but then tears away back into the ballroom where the feast is still in full play.

The world keeps turning, spinning endlessly, because it seems to be the case that, to the world, they really don't matter.


	32. Shatters

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around!

To Coque: Thank you! I will update the fastest I can. The ending is drawing closer at last, though there is still some drama to dig through first. I guess what you say in your country has a lot of truth in it. I don't dare to promise yet that Jaime will do so, at least he won't do so straight away because we have to wrap up some packages. The drawing is by me, yes, thank you so much!

Well, I hope you'll like the chapter despite the pain I put our sweet childhood friends through.

* * *

Jaime and Tyrion are in Brienne's chamber, which is a mess of clubber and tossed around sheets. One can feel the hurt and anger still radiating from the fabric of the linen and covers to the wood of the pulled over stool.

The knight feels sick ever since the ball and Brienne's escape back to Tarth. Even Tyrion's small and honest whispered reassurances that it was likely the right thing to do did little to convince him. Jaime just tries to figure out what he could have done to change it all, and only ends up going back further and further, to the point where he befriended Brienne, which, in today's light, seems to be one of the main reasons for her pains.

He really seems to be anything but her best friend, because friends don't hurt friends, or stab them with invisible daggers.

"She didn't even take her things along," Jaime grimaces as he picks up one of her dresses, twisting the fabric between his fingertips.

"As I said, she asked the entourage to take it back. She likely only took her money and her coat and disappeared into the night," Tyrion shrugs.

Jaime blinks at her study to find her pouch upon it, letters sticking out. She always kept them, just like he did, well, at least for those he received, that is. Those he got are still in a stack with a leather cord around it, close to his chest whenever it's safe to take them along, sealed with a pearl. His fingers ghost over the parchment absently.

"Crap!" Tyrion cries out, forcing the knight back to the all too real reality. Jaime turns around on the back of the heel to see his younger brother surrounded by a bunch of papers, some of which still fly through the air – and a few shards of glass glistening on the ground like crystals. "I just meant to look at the book, but those just fell off the nightstand. C'mon, help me pick that up."

Jaime gets on his knees next to Tyrion to help him with the task. He stops at one of the vials still intact, phantom pains shooting up his fingertips as Brienne's croaked voice ebbs back into his mind.

At some point he feels tempted to take the vial to his lips to somehow sleep through this ordeal.

"What is that? Her perfume?" Tyrion frowns at the ominous glass container which seems to take his brother's mind some other place.

"Brienne never wears perfume," Jaime replies, twisting it in his fingers. No, she always smells of iron, water, and salty air. "It's something she takes because she's had severe trouble sleeping ever since… her father died, pretty much."

"The Gods are not with her lately," Tyrion grunts, snapping the vial from his hand. The younger brother opens the bottle to sniff it, frowning as he caps the bottle again.

"What?" Jaime knits his eyebrows in confusion.

"This smells like Essence of Nightshade to me, mixed with some other things," Tyrion makes a face.

"How would _you_ know? You always say that poison is for weaklings and cowards," Jaime grimaces. "To which I can only agree."

And to which Brienne would agree, too, he is sure, well, at least she used to.

Maybe he should really drink it, Nightshade or not, because isn't he just that? A weakling? A coward?

"And it is, but since I am surrounded by such creatures, I made myself familiar with the smells and names. It's one thing not to use a weapon, another not to know how it's used," Tyrion reminds him.

"You really should have been the firstborn of us two. You are too smart for your own good," Jaime rolls his eyes.

"As I was told, but you know what Essence of Nightshade is, yes?" Tyrion tilts his head at him.

"It can make you sleep," Jaime swallows thickly. "And sometimes forever."

"Yes," Tyrion nods. "So how does Duvall come to the idea to put that into her nightly brew - enough so that I, as no expert, can smell it?"

"Please no," Jaime exhales.

This can't be.

This is getting worse with every minute passing.

"Well, that would explain her change in behaviour, I reckon," Tyrion grimaces pensively.

"I knew this man was trouble," Jaime grits his teeth.

"I didn't see _that_ , to be honest," Tyrion admits with a grimace.

"I should have. She told me about this brew before," Jaime exhales.

"I doesn't change anything now," Tyrion reminds him. "We shouldn't ponder on the maybes."

"You are right," Jaime lets out a sigh, his chest feeling heavy. "So Duvall… gave her this brew, all this time. No wonder that she believed his shit so easily."

"You mean about her having to have an heir?" Tyrion grimaces. "That was written in the last will. The brew had little to do with that."

"About having a husband," Jaime shakes his head. "She wanted to get rid of Duvall, you know?"

"Do you think she _knew_ what's in these vials?" Tyrion questions.

"No, or else she would have had him executed by now, or at least sent him away all bruised and bloodied. You know how she is with betrayal… Brienne just said that the two disagreed a lot lately, which is why she wanted to have a new political advisor. She thought that if she married someone rather trustworthy, she could have him as her advisor, pretty much, to get rid of Duvall. In fact, that was the one other reason why she sought marriage," Jaime explains to the younger brother. "She thought a marriage contract would work as enough reassurance."

"One should never underestimate my dearest Lady of them all. While she insists that she is dull, she has a fine sense for who is good and who is not," Tyrion muses.

Jaime grimaces. After all he has done to her and after all that seemingly happened to her because of him, he doubts that Brienne was right in her fine sense about him.

He tilts his head at a letter he recognises, one he saw back when both their world seemed complete and not fractured beyond repair.

"She kept these…," he mutters as he picks them up.

"She kept what?" Tyrion frowns.

"The letters Duvall sent to her, back when she came to King's Landing to fight in the melee," Jaime says.

Back when she seemed happy.

Before her world was crushed between the Gods' fingers.

Jaime can imagine that she read them as a bedtime story, reminding herself of her oaths like a nightly prayer.

"Give me these," the younger brother says.

"What?" Jaime blinks. The younger brother snatches the slips of parchment from him.

"Hey!" the older man cries out, but Tyrion just rolls his eyes, "I don't care about privacy at this point."

"Tyrion," Jaime sighs, but Tyrion is having none of it, "We know what's written in them, and it's not like she's going to kill me if she knew. She's not here to strangle me, is she?"

The dwarf scans the letters, his frown deepening.

"What?" Jaime asks.

"Lord Selwyn was right-handed, right?" Tyrion asks.

"Why yes?" Jaime shrugs.

"Brienne mentioned to me that her father always signed the letters, even when his fingers ached and he had Maester Duvall write them for him," Tyrion goes on.

"Yes, I remember her mentioning that, too," Jaime nods.

She always took a bit of pride in it, since it spoke for her father's will to fight.

"Now look at the signatures," Tyrion says, pointing at the slips of parchment.

"They are edgy," Jaime shrugs, blinking at them.

"That's because of the stiff joints, you genius. Now don't act duller than you are. The first one says that he is in a bad disposition. Lord Selwyn signed it," Tyrion rolls his eyes.

"Yes," Jaime nods.

"The third was written only by Duvall to inform Brienne that Lord Selwyn laid dying, so he signed the letter instead of the Lord of Tarth," Tyrion goes on.

"That stands to reason," Jaime shrugs.

"Maester Duvall seems to be left-handed," Tyrion says.

"You can tell that?" Jaime blinks at him.

"You can't?" Tyrion huffs.

"I won't ever deny that you are the smart one of us two, but what does that tell us?" Jaime asks.

"The second letter was signed by Lord Selwyn, to inform Brienne that he was faring better," Tyrion tells him.

"Right," Jaime nods. He can still remember how they celebrated the message in all private.

"This signature is by a left-handed man, though," Tyrion argues. "Despite the fact that the person made the effort to make it look like Lord Selwyn's handwriting."

"You mean…," Jaime gulps and the younger brother nods, "Lord Selwyn never got any better, and a left-handed person signed in his name."

"To what result?" Jaime asks, though he already fears that he knows the answer.

"Someone wanted Brienne to come too late – and for anyone who might call this into question has no chance to inspect the body anymore," Tyrion replies.

"So… you think Maester Duvall killed Lord Selwyn," Jaime brings out, his world tilting sideways once more.

"He either let him die or pushed him over the edge of no return. And if so, he made any effort to make it look natural," Tyrion shrugs. "And was good enough that I bought it, too. And I was suspicious already."

"If I get that bastard…," Jaime growls, clenching his fists.

"I think we should find out some more about Duvall, right now, instead of clenching our fists in anger and vow revenge in an overly dramatic manner," Tyrion huffs.

"How do we? Who'd know him around here? He's on Tarth, still," Jaime argues. "If we wanted to get information, we would have to go and ask around there."

"Let me talk to some friends of mine. People whisper _everywhere_ ," Tyrion suggests.

"And what am I supposed to do?" Jaime questions.

"You… might want to talk to Cersei," Tyrion says. "To see if she knows Duvall. I mean, we know that she withheld the letters, right? So maybe she is…"

"Involved," Jaime nods slowly.

"But be subtle, alright? I know you can do that if you try hard enough," Tyrion snorts.

"Subtle? I want to…," Jaime means to say, but the younger man interrupts him, "Ask her subtly and don't let on that we know about this here. No one can be trusted, the least our dear sister. You see that, too, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jaime exhales.

"Good, then I will see my friends, and you'll talk to the witch," Tyrion shrugs as he opens the door. "Oh yeah, and be so kind to pick that up for me."

" _You_ knocked it over," Jaime argues vehemently.

"And what I have to do is much more important than what you have to do, so now. I will see you later. And remember – be subtle," Tyrion says before he disappears. Jaime grunts as he picks up the papers and shatters of glass, as though this would somehow piece them back together.

But some things are just broken beyond repair.

* * *

Jaime makes his way to Cersei's chamber later on, striding inside fast, closing the door with more force than he intended. His skin feels as though it was on fire.

"Oh, Jaime, there you are!" she looks at him. "Is your head alright? I didn't see you at all in the morning…"

"My head is fine, save your breath," Jaime tells her curtly. "I would rather talk about the ball."

"That was an unexpected disaster, really. I mean, I always knew that the cow was clumsy, but now she seems to be a loose canon on tops, she…," Cersei says, but Jaime interrupts her harshly, "It was an accident."

"That is what _you_ think," she argues.

"I wasn't hurt severely. I hurt her, and that is why she pushed me back. She couldn't foresee that I would stumble so far backwards and hit my head against the wall," Jaime argues.

"And still she left without getting help for you," she argues.

"She told her maid to summon Pod to my aid," Jaime retorts.

"But didn't check on you or made sure that you were alright," Cersei replies through pursed lips. "As any other sane, well-behaved person would have done."

"I hurt her, and that is why she left. She got me all the help it needed, and as I said, my head is fine," Jaime argues.

Well, his head is not fine on the inside, but on the outside it is. His skull his about as hard Brienne's is. And hers is made of steel already.

"Really, and here I thought that this would work out for her for once. I mean, with the ball, she's had best chances of finding herself a suitor," Cersei exhales. "Instead, she just knocks you out and leaves in the midst of the night like some bandit on the run."

"Why would you believe that she'd have good chances of finding someone?" Jaime snorts.

"Why would you not? I thought that you are _so_ fond of her?" she makes a face.

"I am, but that is not the matter. You know that not many men approached her, or else there wouldn't have been a reason to have her here, so what made you think that this ball would change anything about the matter?" Jaime replies.

"She is rich, for Gods' sake," Cersei argues.

"Not as rich as other families," he objects. "As you kept telling me all the while."

"But actually rich enough that any sane man should want to be around her, if only for the sake of her wealth. To the day, I fail to understand why no one… took on that deal yet. The sacrifice is not at all that grand," she shrugs with nonchalance.

" _Sacrifice_?" he repeats.

"She's ugly and mannish, fine, anything but a lady, alright, but I thought that her apparent wealth would work in her favour at last," she replies. "And in any case, I didn't think she'd take off in the middle of the night, just as I didn't really expect you to do what you seemingly did. I thought you and her had finally agreed on that she'd have to marry?"

"I wouldn't have minded her to marry a good man, but I don't think that I have to give my consent to her marrying some shady man who is only after her wealth. She deserves better than that," Jaime tells her, his eyes no more than narrow slits.

"And what we deserve and what we get are two totally different things," she exhales wearily.

And Jaime is honestly beyond fed up with how her world spins only about herself, knowing that the implication winds back to her own case, having been married off to King Robert against her will.

In fact, he finds his fists clenching whenever she opens her mouth.

It seems that he is sick of lies, or so he reckons.

"You made her find the letters, after you intercepted them all this time," Jaime then breaks out saying. She swallows once, blinks twice, but then replies in her usual calm, soothing voice, "As I told the little monster already, I didn't do it."

"You, along with Tyrion, are the only one who knew about Brienne and me writing to each other," he objects.

"And I always gave a damn, as you might be able to recall," she snorts.

"Cersei, just say it already," Jaime demands.

He wants a bit of truth out of her mouth for once.

"I didn't put them there. _That_ is the truth," she tells him in a steady voice.

"And in any case, the little monster, when he annoyed me with them yet again, also accused me of having intercepted his and apparently Lord Renly's letters to the cow. Now you tell me how I would have done _that_. I am bound to King's Landing, and I cannot just leave to shoot a raven from Tarth's sky with a slingshot, can I? So, if you think that someone intervened the letters, someone must have done the same thing in Tarth, and I know no one in Tarth, by the Gods. I've never set foot upon Tarth's muddy soil, and I have no intention to," Cersei tells him. Jaime shakes his head, "So you don't know anyone from Tarth other than Lord Selwyn and Brienne."

"Why yes? Why are you asking me these questions? That is utterly foolish. You know yourself that I have never been there, and I made my dislike no secret, alright?" she rolls her eyes.

"Because I don't believe you. You put the letters there," Jaime argues. "I know."

"I swear by the old Gods and the new that I did not put them there," she replies sternly. "Jaime, think about it. I _wanted_ her to marry. That she is still a single woman is nothing I ever wanted. Not only because I honestly feel a bit of pity for her, after all, she is forced into the same things I was forced into, just that her father comes to haunt her from her grave, but also because you may have realised that I am not exactly fond of her being close to you."

"Because you are jealous," he narrows his eyes at her.

"If it satisfies you hearing it from me, yes. You always shared a kind of relationship you and I… did not," Cersei argues, now almost in a teary voice. Jaime tilts his head, not moving by an inch, and for a moment he can see a lightning strike behind her eyes at that realisation.

Because usually he would have reassured her by now in some way, would have offered comfort, but he does not.

However, the tears seem to dry at once as she goes on with a voice full of nonchalance. "So why would I want her not to marry so that she'd finally stay with her arse in Tarth – and off the market once and for all?"

Jaime grimaces at her.

"I tried to do her a favour. If that hurt you in turn, then I am sorry," she says peaceably.

"It's not about that you hurt me, it's about how you hurt Brienne!" Jaime insists.

"I only care about you, get that into your head," she tells him. "And how did I hurt her, taking aside the false accusation that I have to do with your letters?"

"Oh, I don't know, introducing her to shady people like Dorian Styde, for instance?" he retorts.

"He is a man of a prestigious house up North. There were plenty of other men she could have talked to, had the cow acted less like a freak. So don't blame me if she doesn't read up on the suitors and their backgrounds before attending such a feast, as any lady should do and usually does. My invitation was an act of goodwill. If she takes that gift to stomp with her giant feet upon it, then this is hardly my fault. If I regret anything, then it is that I invited her here in the first place. She caused you harm and proved to be nothing but ungrateful," she replies.

Jaime just shakes his head, "I am fed up with this."

"What now?" she frowns at him.

"I will go now. I don't want to hear more accusations concerning Brienne coming out of your mouth. She is a good person," he argues. "Better than you and I combined."

She is virtue. They are sin.

"And that's what I mean. You always put her on a pedestal," she narrows her eyes. Jaime doesn't reward her with a reply, however, just walks ahead.

"Jaime," she curses after him.

"Until later, _sister_ ," he says before he exits. He can hear glass shattering against a wall.

At last his and Brienne's lives are not the only ones that crack and shatter under the pressure of reality.


	33. Cobwebs

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around.

I hope you'll enjoy the story despite merciless drama and merciless Cersei.

* * *

A few days later, Jaime and Tyrion got back together in Jaime's chamber, after the younger brother busied himself getting information necessary to finally figure out this mess. Jaime saw nothing of him the past few days. Others often mistake the youngest Lannister for a good-for-nothing who has no ambition whatsoever, living into the day, but Jaime knows that a mule lives within Tyrion the same way it lives within him and Brienne, stubborn and going all the way if he has to.

"So?" Jaime looks at his brother expectantly.

"It took me a bit of time, but now I have a nice bit of information about Maester Duvall," Tyrion says.

"Which is?" Jaime questions.

"He is actually a small bud from King's Landing. He went by another name by that time, though, which is why it was so hard to find out about him. Jaden Tar. He sought refuge in Tarth, years ago, before Brienne was born," the younger brother replies, a bit of glee in his voice over the fact that he managed to gather that bit of information, which proved to be very hard to get, given that Duvall changed his name like others change their garment.

"Why would he seek refuge? I thought he's a Maester," Jaime grimaces.

"A Maester, maybe, but also a gamer," Tyrion shrugs.

"Come again?" the older Lannister son frowns.

"He gambles. A lot, as in really, a whole lot. That's what earned him the nickname Jaden Dice. He is indebted to many people whom he could never repay in a lifetime. I assume that he actually came to Tarth to escape his debts," Tyrion explains. "I wouldn't be surprised if Lord Selwyn even knew about that circumstance, the good man he was, and offered Duvall shelter in exchange for his services, though that is of course just a speculation on my part."

"Well, but that means that he's out of that life, if so much time has passed between his gambling time and now," Jaime frowns, earning a chuckle from his younger brother, "Have you gambled before, with shady people?"

"Of course not," Jaime shrugs. Tyrion rolls his eyes, annoyed, "I tend to forget that knights are boring. In any case, those guys _never_ forget. Now just imagine if someone told them that the guy is apparently not dead or so, but… just on a small isle, not far from King's Landing away… an isle you can actually reach by ship…"

"They'd surely want their money back," Jaime agrees.

"A lot, and fast," Tyrion nods.

"So Duvall needed money and protection," Jaime concludes.

"Right, so no one comes to shake him till the coins fall out of him. And now guess who's has had correspondence with him in years?" Tyrion goes on.

"Who?" Jaime questions.

"Maester Pycelle," Tyrion says. Jaime blinks, "That means that Maester Duvall always had a link to King's Landing… and the Red Keep."

"Exactly, just as this means we have two men who could easily intervene Brienne's and your letters. You finally seem to catch on, well done!" Tyrion says mockingly. "So? What did Cersei say about the matter?

"Before, she always used to say that she knew people who knew people in Tarth, to explain how she knew about Brienne's troubles and how she approached her to come to the ball. Now she says that she knows no one except for Brienne or Lord Selwyn," Jaime replies.

"Yeah, no, there can only be one right option, if not both are wrong," Tyrion huffs. "So, to sum up what we have… Duvall is a gamer who escaped his debts on Tarth. He held correspondence with Maester Pycelle. Lord Selwyn's signature was faked by a left-handed man, to wrongly inform Brienne about his condition, leading to her coming too late to talk to him a last time, and for anyone to call his last will into question, or the reason for his death… Duvall is familiar with brews, as he proved with Brienne. Our letters between her were intercepted, to the result that she was completely isolated on Tarth. Duvall gave Brienne something that would make her… let's say… _dreamy_ … and more open to manipulation. He insisted on her having to fulfil her oath to her father, stated in the last will, pushing her into rash decisions by telling her that she may become infertile in the near future… Yet, Brienne didn't marry… And now that she came to King's Landing, we learned that she wanted to get rid of Duvall as a political advisor, too, which means that maybe she would have refused his advice sooner or later… The ball proved to be a disaster, thanks to… us, after the intercepted letters mysteriously reappeared on your study for Brienne to find, after she was called there by someone. And now Brienne is gone back to Tarth."

"Yes," Jaime grimaces.

So many things already set into stone.

"Given these premises, we can now start to conclude the following: Duvall likely had to do with Lord Selwyn's death after he was threatened to be uncovered for his gambling debts," Tyrion goes on. "This may have been because people found out about his identity by chance or because someone threatened to reveal his identity to those he owed money to – in exchange for his 'services'."

"Correct," the knight nods curtly.

"Duvall went on giving her that brew. One of my acquaintances who's good with these mixtures confirmed that the amount of Essence of Nightshade is too little to be lethal, but that the mixture with the other herbs will surely cloud one's mind and judgment possibly, too," Tyrion says.

"But Brienne set up her own political course despite the brew," Jaime argues with a bit of pride in his voice.

The wench truly never yields, even if she doesn't know it that she is in a fight.

"That's right. To make matters worse, no one decided to marry her, though," Tyrion exhales.

"So Duvall told her about that ball and convinced her to go," Jaime adds, and Tyrion nods, "Brienne saw the personal advantage that she got a chance to kick out Duvall and find herself a husband to fulfil her father's last will."

"I reckon it's clear by now that Cersei made sure that the letters were on my study for Brienne to find," Jaime sighs, though it still stings to admit it, say it out loud. "In whatever the way she did now."

"Correct," Tyrion agrees, a little proud of his brother finally finding the strength to call their sister into question.

"Does that mean that she's the only one who could have to do with... all this?" Jaime asks.

"Definitely not. Just given this, it may well have been that she only withheld the letters as an act of jealousy, and that Duvall moved either on his own or by another person forcing his hand," Tyrion argues factually. "Though I find it unlikely that Duvall killed Lord Selwyn on his own behalf. He has no gain from his death. He had a good and secure position as his hand. He must have been threatened or paid by someone, or both."

"Cersei said that she wanted Brienne to get married off, and I don't think she lies about that," Jaime throws in.

"Right. That is actually all she ever wanted. And something made her seemingly _very_ certain that she would if she attended that ball," Tyrion says. "And showing the letters might have helped her cause, but it was surely no guarantee for Brienne to seal the deal. In fact, it posed a risk to her that Brienne would refuse to attend the ball altogether. But Cersei seemed very certain, or else she wouldn't have done it, because our dear sister is smart enough not to intervene her own plans."

"So what does that mean? That Cersei was just immature and wanted to see Brienne withdraw from me, but that she has nothing to do with Lord Selwyn's murder? Or Brienne's poisoning?" Jaime questions.

"Well, it might be. But let's go back to the fact. The next step is to question the motive," Tyrion tells him.

"Alright," Jaime frowns. His mind is reeling to the point that he is only glad for Tyrion being his anchor point.

"We have to ask ourselves who has most gain from Lord Selwyn's death," the younger man says.

"The parasites likely thought they would," Jaime replies. "But why didn't they just fake a last will that stated that Brienne would not be made heiress of Tarth and trade it for Lord Selwyn's? That would have been far easier."

"Very true, though that might have appeared too far out of his character," Tyrion shrugs. "But if it was one of her family members who sought to take over Tarth, then removing Brienne quickly would have been the safest bet. Why not give her the same brew Duvall likely forced down Lord Selwyn's throat, right?"

"Because people would assume that it was murder?" Jaime shrugs.

"This is still considered bon ton in most places, and even if not… sadly, no one really cares. So the question is really why someone would leave Brienne alive if he or she was after Tarth. The only possible solution is that it's never been about Tarth per se, but about Brienne, and making sure that she stayed home, and have an heir, with whoever is applicable. And now you tell me who'd want _just_ that," Tyrion looks at Jaime, who swallows thickly, "Cersei."

"I just ask myself… if this is true, then why… leave Brienne alive? If it was Cersei, and she wanted to remove Brienne as a rival from my life – then why let her live?" Jaime asks, though his mind is actually rather spinning about the possibility that someone could have killed Brienne, with a small, innocent-looking vial to her lips, and he wouldn't have known until it was too late. The mere thought makes him want to bring up his scarce breakfast, after he didn't manage to force much down his parched throat.

"Do you know how you make love and need for a person in another person eternal?" Tyrion asks, almost dreamily, making Jaime frown, "No?"

It seems that he knows nothing about love, or rather, how to keep it.

"Let him or her die," Tyrion replies.

"That sounds romantic," Jaime furrows his eyebrows.

"You just have to look at Father to know that I am right. Mother became a sort of celestial being ever since she died, and I should be able to tell. He and Cersei let me know that I killed that celestial being often enough. He's never let another woman into his heart. And had Brienne died, her loss would have shattered you so much beyond repair that I think it's not farfetched to conclude that you may have denied even Cersei, or am I wrong?" Tyrion asks.

"No…," Jaime exhales.

The mere thought makes him die a little bit on the inside. He just has to think back to the melee, the fear clutching at him with an iron grip as Brienne laid unmoving in the dust to know that this would have doused any flame still left within him.

"So... Cersei," he grimaces.

"She did the best she could, by leaving Brienne isolated on Tarth, in the belief that she had no allies anymore and that you and I turned our backs on her. With Duvall's help Brienne was supposed to be forced into succumbing to what is written in a last will I dare doubt was at all authentic, now that we know that papers were faked before," Tyrion shrugs.

"But Brienne didn't give in," Jaime argues.

"And that is what Cersei couldn't foresee. You can't mix a potion that makes a person marry. The only thing you can do is to set up the right circumstances, but Brienne proved to be much more than Cersei could ever believe her to be. She built up her own political order. She learned to mistrust Duvall. She didn't marry just anyone. And even in that isolation she thus still meant a threat to Cersei," Tyrion says with a bit of mirth and a bit of pride.

"But still, she couldn't leave Tarth, that was one of the problems for Brienne," the knight adds.

"As far as I heard, her allegiance to the House Baratheon was still intact and she sought contact to Renly to establish an exchange of goods, because he is one of the few men she trusts," Tyrion argues. "That surely would have meant her closer to the Iron Throne, had it come to treaties."

"But the letters to Renly were intercepted, too," Jaime cranes his neck.

"Yes, Renly seemingly sought out Robert about the matter. In fact he tried to convince him to establish Tarth as part of the trading route again, from King's Landing," Tyrion says.

He was honestly delighted once he learned about this plan, because it means that he was right about his predictions about Renly Baratheon, who proves to be a man of honour despite lacking some aspects people attribute to men.

"How didn't we know about that?" Jaime grimaces.

"We are not part of the Small Council, so it doesn't have to concern us, easy as that, but I bet Robert talked to his wife, and even if not, Cersei knows how to get the truth out of people. _You_ should know best," Tyrion huffs.

"And how do you know _now_?" Jaime questions, his frown deepening.

" _Now_ I knew what to look for, so I could ask the right questions to the right people," Tyrion shrugs.

"Varys?" Jaime asks simply.

"Varys," Tyrion agrees.

Always Varys.

"Then why did Cersei bring her here? I still fail to understand that," Jaime runs his hand over his face.

"In that light, it makes even more sense. She wanted to marry Brienne off, as we already said, and as she openly admitted," Tyrion replies.

"But she didn't manage," Jaime argues.

"She thought she would… and even once she likely realised how close you grew given a bit of time together… she managed to drive a wedge between you once more, by showing Brienne the letters," Tyrion objects.

"Right," Jaime replies, biting the inside of his cheek.

"She obviously couldn't foresee that you would do what you did or that Brienne would take off. That actually worked against her, but now it seems that we played into her hands after all, because you and I both know that Brienne will likely do anything to find herself a husband now, if only to defy you," Tyrion exhales.

"By the Gods," Jaime grunts, covering his face with his hands.

To think that so much trouble, so much pain, was caused only because two children who liked the same things befriended each other early on in their lives, called each other names, pulled each other's hair, and poked each other with wooden swords.

Such an innocent little thing is seemingly not meant to be a in a world of corruption.

"I should have seen that," Tyrion makes a face.

" _I_ should have," Jaime argues, but his younger brother only shakes his head, "You are a witless fool most of your time. As Brienne said to me during the ball, you think with your heart, not your head. I, by contrast, knew that Cersei meant no good. I just always believed that she would be satisfied with the little bit of backstabbing she did. I was gravely mistaken about the matter, though. She grew a lot more daring ever since she was crowned Queen, believing herself invincible. The problem is that Brienne pays the price for it now. Maybe we are no Lannisters after all, since we didn't pay that debt… or maybe Brienne is because she does."

"And Lord Selwyn paid the ultimate price," Jaime grits his teeth, ramming his fingernails into his palms.

"Hearts are bloody places," Tyrion grunts.

"And they shatter so easily," Jaime says solemnly.

"What do you want to do now?" Tyrion exhales wearily.

"Talk to Cersei. I want to hear it form her," Jaime says, gritting his teeth. "I need to hear it from her."

* * *

"Jaime, what can I do…?" Cersei blinks at him as he whips the door open, almost bringing it out of its hinges, nostrils flaring, looking truly like a lion for once.

He slams the door shut.

"My, my, someone's in a foul mood," she grimaces.

"Do you know Maester Duvall?" Jaime demands.

Now is the time.

He wants truth.

He wants it now.

And he should have demanded it in a long time.

"I told you already that I have nothing to do with Tarth or its people," Cersei rolls her eyes, unimpressed by his threatening eyes and posture.

"Did you know that Maester Pycelle exchanged letters with Maester Duvall?" Jaime goes on.

"Why would I?" she makes a face.

"You withheld the letters, no matter what you may say," Jaime accuses her, the words coming out of his mouth like arrows from a crossbow.

"I did not," she insists, letting out an annoyed grunt.

"Then you let someone do it, so you can say that sentence truthfully, but you are the only one who would have gain from it," Jaime insists.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, gesturing nonchalantly.

"Lord Selwyn was killed," Jaime then says. She stares at him, "… What?"

"Tell me, Cersei. Tell me, credibly, that you had nothing to do with Lord Selwyn's death," he questions.

Jaime really wished she would deliver an explanation that would make all this less cloudy, less of a storm to rage above his head.

"I didn't kill him," she replies bluntly. "I thought he died of natural causes anyways."

"I asked you to tell me that you had nothing to do with his death, because that is always your sweet escape to tell the truth by not telling the truth. Did you organize it? Order it? Did you help?" Jaime demands. "Answer me, and answer me truthfully for once."

"Of course not," she replies.

"Stop lying to me!" he curses.

"I didn't do it!" she hisses back.

"Cersei!" he growls, grabbing her by the arm. "Tell me, tell me now!"

Their eyes clash instead of fading into each other as one.

They break.

They are two.

"Fine, you know what? Yes! I wanted the ugly cow to stay where she belongs," she hisses, pulling away from him.

"Gods, why did I ever trust you?!" Jaime shrieks. He understood it from the conversation with Tyrion, but hearing it flying out of her mouth makes it even more real.

And for that woman he also donned the White.

For that woman he resigned himself to a womanless life, with only her as the woman he could have.

For that woman he also murdered his King.

For that woman he gave up on his honour, shattered it beyond repair.

"Jaime, we are one, alright? She only disrupted that," Cersei argues.

"You disrupted my friendship with her. You disrupted _her_ because _what_? Because you didn't want to share me?" Jaime demands.

"You belong to me!" she curses.

"But you don't own me," Jaime corrects her.

He is his own person, now with Kingslayer written upon him or not, vow to the Kingsguard or not. He is Jaime, and he is his own.

"Oh yes, I do, just like you own me. We are each other's," she insists, grabbing his wrist, but he pushes her away this time, "Don't."

He twists on the back of the heel, feeling dizzy, "And I was so foolish to guard you! Believing that you wouldn't ever do such a thing to me!"

"I did it for us!" Cersei argues vehemently.

"You did it for yourself!" Jaime retorts angrily.

"I did it so that we could be together!" Cersei tells him.

"Right!" Jaime spats.

"Do you know what a lovesick cow looks like? She's always had that look for you, Jaime. Ever since you met. She is head over heels for you. And you grew way too fond of her, too," Cersei goes on, eyes narrow slits.

"So you decide to destroy her life?" Jaime looks at her disbelievingly. He knew she was no good woman, being the other half of a not good man, but he always believed two things about her, that she cared about him as her other half, and that she would never go that far for their sin. She made him take the blame for her sins since young children, so why would she go that far now?

"I made sure she stays in Tarth, where she belongs!" Cersei retorts angrily.

"You damned her to a life she doesn't want to live!" Jaime cries out.

"It's a life she never would have escaped from!" she argues vehemently, but then takes a moment to calm herself, hugging her arms, looking vulnerable, though Jaime knows that she is anything but vulnerable. "And anyways, it really was an act of goodwill and perhaps even redemption to have her back here, for the ball."

"Stop lying!" Jaime demands.

"I felt bad, alright? I thought that someone would marry her off right away, but it was more complicated than that," she exhales, her voice honey all of a sudden.

"You mean that I didn't let that happen?" Jaime shakes his head.

"Yes! I thought you had finally understood that you had to let her go! But then you play the jealous man and make sure she doesn't marry the one man who showed slight interest! Do you know how hard it is to sell such a cow? But I gave my best by having her here, but then you had to act so heedlessly to disgrace her," she says, gesturing wildly, tearing down her calm appearance, shredding it to pieces.

"She is no good to sell!" Jaime growls.

"I did it to redeem myself. I didn't think it would escalate like that, Jaime, believe me," she insists, now peaceably again.

And she keeps spinning her lies.

How many faces does that woman wear?

And how comes he only noticed two at best?

"How am I supposed to believe you anything after you killed Lord Selwyn?" Jaime demands.

"I didn't want him killed, so listen to me," she insists.

"You just said…," he means to say, but she interrupts him,"I said that I ordered for steps to be taken to have the cow in Tarth, but I didn't intend on killing him. I told the Maester to weaken him enough so Brienne would be forced to take over. Not once did I think that he would… miscalculate."

" _Miscalculate_? Do you believe that yourself?" Jaime cries out, running a hand over his face.

"Jaime, I didn't mean for this to happen," she says. "But... but I love you so much. I would do anything to keep you. You are my other half. I love you. I do anything for my love to you."

"You love what we have, I mean had, but you don't love me," Jaime shakes his head.

She loves herself by loving him, her other half.

"I do, so listen. Listen to me," she says, grabbing his arm. He raises the limb angrily to make her go, but she holds on, "I don't want to hear your lies anymore!"

"I bear your child," she then says.

"What?!" he gapes at her.

"I might bear your child, or no, I am sure of it," Cersei says. Jaime's arm drops slowly, sinks like a ship, "I don't believe you."

"But you must," she insists.

"I must not," he argues. "You told me too many lies by now."

"Jaime," she says, running her long fingers over his arm. "I bear your child. Something that will unite us for all eternities. It'll be ours, and no one can take it from us."

"Let me go!" Jaime growls, trying to pull his arm away from her, her fingers feeling like cobwebs on his skin.

"Jaime," she looks at him, stunned.

"Let me go! Or else I will forget myself!" Jaime warns her.

"You wouldn't dare," she narrows her eyes at him.

"Try me," he tells her sternly.

"This is your child, ours. You wouldn't ever hurt it," she says with narrows eyes. Jaime takes his other hand to pull her away from him without force, but simply with strength, "No, you are right. I won't hurt it or you, but that doesn't make me stay here now."

"Jaime!" she calls after him, but Jaime leaves in a hurry, disappears into the shadows, feeling the cobwebs wandering up his body.


	34. Welcome to Reality

Author's Note: Whua! I am sorry that I keep bringing in new drama! I still hope you can take it ;)

* * *

"What did she say?" Tyrion asks once his older brother returns, studying the knight who looks more like a bird with broken wings than a proud member of the Kingsguard at this point.

"She admitted it," Jaime says, his voice shaking with cold anger and hot fear.

"I'm sorry," Tyrion grimaces sympathetically. He knows what Cersei is to him, how far he went for her. It must be crushing to realise at last that all the sacrifices he made will be left uncherished by the person whom he made them for.

"Why would you be sorry? I destroyed everything," Jaime can't help but ask.

"I'm sorry for you," Tyrion shrugs simply.

"Lord Selwyn is dead… because of me, because of her, because of us. I helped shovel his grave. That man was me like a father… he was everything to Brienne," Jaime bites his lower lip.

That man was him like a true father, a good man, and he is dead because he involved himself with bad people, infected himself with the Lannister poison.

"Brienne must know the truth," Tyrion says.

"Yeah… just that I can't talk to her and just that it'll shatter her even more. And just that I am goddamn responsible for all this," Jaime says, pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling nauseous.

"Cersei is," Tyrion argues.

"I am," he shakes his head. "I helped shovel Lord Selwyn's grave, and I will likely help shovel her grave as well… and mine, too."

"What do you mean?" the younger Lannister grimaces, fearing for yet another blow to swing their way to swep them off their feet.

"Cersei says that she is with child… with _my_ child…," Jaime admits.

"Oh by the Gods, how stupid can you be!?" Tyrion cries out, hitting him in the thigh, though Jaime doesn't really feel it, for that he is too numb. "Didn't Father ever give you the talk about what phases on the moon one should rather strangle one's own snake instead of seeking out the snake's bed?"

"I paid attention, alright? I can't explain how it happened. I didn't lay with her in a while, and not once since Brienne showed up in King's Landing," Jaime gesticulates wildly.

"Those pictures will never leave me. I will always blame you two for my alcoholism," Tyrion growls, clutching his temples against the spreading headache plaguing his head.

"If she is with my child, then… I don't know, what _is_ then?" Jaime asks, completely at a loss.

"Then you are screwed?" Tyrion offers with a frown. Jaime rolls his eyes in frustration.

The younger Lannister means to say something else, but that is when there is a knock on the door.

"Milords?" Pod says, peeking his head inside.

"What is it? I told you that we don't want to be interrupted, Pod?" Tyrion exhales, annoyed.

"Uhm, your Father, Lord Tywin arrived, Lord Tyrion," Pod replies. "He wants to see you presently."

The two man open their eyes wide.

Who comes next? The Seven to make a circle and laugh at their faces?

"What? I didn't know he was coming for visit," Tyrion blinks, still stunned.

"He wants to see you both, that's all he's said to me," Pod argues. "And he didn't look like he wants to be kept waiting."

Tyrion glances at Jaime, who grimaces back at him. The two get up and follow Podrick – just to come face to face with Tywin Lannister only minutes later.

" _Father_ , it's truly a surprise to see you here," Tyrion makes a face, making his chagrin no secret.

"It was urgent," Tywin says.

"You didn't send a letter in advance, however," Tyrion grimaces. "Which would have been way faster than travelling all the way to here. After all, ravens fly faster than horses run."

"I decided to tell you vis-à-vis," Tywin shrugs. "It is important business after all."

"You mean so that I can do nothing to prepare, I see," Tyrion huffs.

"I have decided that it's time for you to get married," Tywin then says. Tyrion blinks a few times, honestly surprised by the sudden news, but knows better than to let it show on his face for too long.

"Oh, and what poor maiden did you promise a dwarf? Or did you leave that out in the application?" the youngest Lannister son snorts.

"It's someone you know. I actually think that you owe me a bit of gratitude for the choice I've made," Tywin goes on. Jaime and Tyrion almost make the same grimace simultaneously.

" _Gratitude_? Oh, does that mean she still has all her teeth – or is she just wealthy enough to pay for my whores and wine?" Tyrion quips.

"Wealthy enough surely, though I don't think she will let you have your whores," Tywin replies.

"Who?" Tyrion demands.

"Brienne of Tarth," Tywin then says.

For a moment, the hall is so silent that one could hear a hair flying to the ground.

"What?!" Tyrion gapes.

" _What_?!" Jaime can't help but join the chorus.

"I actually thought you'd be… a bit more delighted about the matter. For all I know, you used to be friends," Tywin grimaces.

"You always said to me that the Lannisters wouldn't marry into the Tarth clan because they were not wealthy enough," Jaime manages to say.

"And that circumstance is changed now. Tarth, as it turns out, is one of the richest isles in all of Westeros, if not _the_ wealthiest," Tywin argues.

"Since when does an island become wealthy all of a sudden?" Tyrion makes a face. "Did they find a donkey to shit gold nuggets or what?"

"When it turns out that the Sapphire Isles bear their name for a good reason," Tywin replies, hands folded in the back.

"But there are no sapphires on Tarth," Jaime argues.

They have the name for their sapphire blue waters.

And he called them Sapphire Isles because they reminded him of Brienne's eyes.

"There are, just no blue ones. They discovered a cave you can only reach by diving, where they then discovered pink sapphires, in masses that make up for any lack in quality by means of sheer number," Tywin replies.

Jaime blinks.

Could it be... the cave in which he almost got lost, and still dreads over that he didn't?

"Since when is that known? And how didn't we hear about it?" Tyrion makes a face.

"It was a call-out from Tarth that only reached me while I was on my way here. As far as I heard, she was already searching for a husband, but didn't want to put that newly discovered wealth first, which is why she kept it to herself, foolishly so, I believe. However, now she sent out ravens to see who answers the call first," Tywin replies.

Jaime grimaces, calling to mind how Brienne said that she had another plan, and why Cersei was so perfectly convinced that Brienne would find herself a suitor. Duvall likely told her about the sapphires, and so she thought that Brienne would use that to get herself a husband right away. She seemingly didn't expect Brienne to withhold that information until last.

Because Cersei wouldn't know how a virtuous woman would react, how a woman would react who holds on to honour, and who, till last, didn't want to sell herself to any man.

"Thus, Tarth is now a very good candidate to marry into, which is why I have any intention to unite the Lannister clan and the Tarth clan by marriage," Tywin goes on.

"I don't think that Brienne would want me," Tyrion argues.

"And I don't think she is very picky," Tywin replies, unimpressed.

"Thanks," Tyrion rolls his eyes. "Very encouraging."

"She didn't have anyone just yet, which means that we have to act fast," Tywin goes on.

"Before someone else can sink his teeth into her, you mean?" Tyrion snorts.

"Exactly," their father agrees. "So you will take a ship to Tarth – and ask for Lady Brienne's hand."

"But…," Tyrion means to object, but the Lord of Casterly Rock doesn't let him, "I will not hear another word from you. That is the one thing you can do for the Lannisters that doesn't shame us all."

Tyrion narrows his eyes at him, but then lets his shoulders drop, "I think I am in dire need of some wine. Jaime, would you accompany me? I am overtaken by the weight of the news and the honour to serve my family by means of marriage."

"I will see you later," Tywin says to Jaime.

"Of course," the oldest Lannister son manages to say. The two start to walk away after that.

Jaime's mouth opens and closes like that of a fish out of water as he and Tyrion start to make their way to the younger man's room.

"I suppose… I can only congratulate you?" Jaime brings out slowly. At that, Tyrion whips his head around, "Are you serious?"

"Well, you like Brienne and she likes you," Jaime shrugs.

Maybe it's better that way. Brienne deserves a good man, and Tyrion is in contrast to him.

"But she won't ever love me as more than her little brother in spirit and one of her best friends," Tyrion snorts.

"She always looked past…," Jaime means to say, but Tyrion interrupts him harshly, "You know exactly how I mean it, so let's drop the act, dear brother. Her heart belongs to someone else, a witless fool, screwed up beyond repair. That has nothing to do with the fact that I am a dwarf and she a wonderful giantess."

"Tyrion," Jaime exhales. Tyrion pushes him inside his room and closes the door.

"Listen to me, I will not marry her if I can help it," Tyrion insists with urgency in his voice.

"It might be for the best. She needs a husband – and you are a good man. You wouldn't ever mistreat her. And maybe she'd eventually forgive me so that we could interact again. It's not perfect, but then again… what in life is?" Jaime argues, sounding defeated.

Because that is what he is.

What a formidable knight he is, ey?

"Tits, but that's not the matter. I will not marry her. That is completely out of question," Tyrion argues, grabbing two cups and filling them with wine to the rim, some of the red liquid dropping to the ground as he carries the cups over to Jaime to hand him one, before he settles down in his own chair.

"Why?" Jaime makes a face.

"Don't you understand this? Jaime, Father, maybe unknown, plays into Cersei's hands," Tyrion tells him.

"Why? This ties the Tarths to us. She wants Brienne away from me. This is actually working against her own wishes," Jaime insists.

In fact, this might be one nice way to repay her.

"If Brienne and I married, she'd become a Lannister. In case of her demise, her wealth would go over into the hands of the Lannisters, because there is no relative anymore, that is unless we had a child before, of course," Tyrion says.

"You mean…," Jaime stutters, eyes opening wide, and Tyrion nods, "Just imagine. Brienne and I marry, nice ceremony, lots of wine, dancers, tons of food, even Father and our dear sister would applaud and wish us all the best. And then we go to Casterly Rock or to Tarth and then… oh no, she ate some poisonous berries, or oh no, she fell off her horse, or oh no, she dies in childbed, and the child with her, or oh no, we die on the voyage to Tarth, all of us. That would leave Father with one dwarf less, a whole bunch of sapphires more, and you completely at the hands of Cersei, and you still within reach for him to maybe get you out of the Kingsguard to become his heir at last. That is a deal Father couldn't ever possibly say 'no' to. If I were to marry Brienne, they would have us killed before you know it."

"Gods," Jaime grunts.

This is really too much.

Lord Selwyn's murder.

Brienne's corruption thanks to Lannister poison.

Their disrupted friendship.

The possibility of a bastard child growing in Cersei's belly.

And now high chances that his brother and Brienne will die for the sake of some goddamn sapphires.

This is too much.

This is simply too much bad.

Is that really what the Gods find proper?

"The situation would be much easier if I wasn't a Lannister. Now I could deny my heritage, so that a marriage between Brienne and me wouldn't be a link between the Houses of Lannister and Tarth, but Father wouldn't allow at this point, since he means to set me up for marriage. It's worse that he is here now, and will likely not send me alone on my Quest of Marital Life. If I make a wrong move now, he might seek different methods to force me," Tyrion argues. "And I would like to stay alive, I must admit. I am not into heroic deaths at all."

"And if you don't marry her…," Jaime grimaces, and Tyrion completes, "Then Father and Cersei will find another person in their favour who is willing to share. Maybe Lancel or someone else of the family. And even if not one of our family, then at least someone who holds allegiance to the House of Lannister. And I think this might be even more unpleasant for Brienne than would be a marriage to me, because that man, upon Cersei's wish, might just as well rape and _then_ kill her. Cersei sees her plans crumble right now, so she might agree to more drastic steps, given that the thing with the child is true. And with Father's support, she is ever the more dangerous because she has even more agency now."

"Where does this end?" Jaime exhales.

"I don't know, I just know that the Gods are apparently not on our side," Tyrion huffs. "Gods are damn whores."

"This is a nightmare," Jaime grunts burying his face with his hand.

"The problem is that it's not," Tyrion huffs.

"Right, this is reality," Jaime exhales.

"Let's drink to the new world," Tyrion grunts, raising his cup, taking a huge swig.

Jaime forces the cup to his lips, too.

The new world tastes very bitter.


	35. Step Forward

Jaime growls as he brings his sword down on the wooden enemy, the sole victim of his frustration, sadness, and honest fright boiling deep within the dark pit now his body. He can taste salt on his tongue from the beads of sweat glistening on his face as he charges again.

He just doesn't know what he is supposed to do anymore.

Tyrion is supposed to sail to Tarth little time from now.

Cersei might be pregnant with his child.

And she is behind all the troubles that lead to Brienne's tragedies.

And he helped, like some goddamn rabid lion on a leash.

Those are the things that he knows, and those are the things he doesn't know how to undo it, to right these wrongs. Because those are things he can't beat with swords.

He can be the most formidable knight the Kingsguard has ever seen, it still didn't save Brienne, didn't save him, didn't save Tyrion.

This really seems to be his curse.

His curse for his sins.

And for Jaime, it is ever the more painful because he is not the sole victim of his wrongdoings. His friend and family are the ones who suffer because of him, because of what he did.

He seemingly is really just the Kingslayer, and no longer a Lannister, because even that debt he doesn't carry alone, no matter how much he would beg the Gods to let him atone for his sins.

Jaime blinks against the bright sunlight, running his palm over his sweaty face. Once his vision clears, he can see Cersei walking along the wall. She watched him like a hawk lately, especially since he refused both her bed and her company, though she can't do much about it, with their Father over for visit – and for him knowing very well what the twins have been up to behind closed doors and drawn curtains. Not to mention that Robert is back, which means that she cannot sneak out in the middle of the night as she had done before, just like he couldn't sneak into her chambers, if he wanted, which he didn't, obviously.

They pass by a haggard-looking, tall girl with raven hair, one of the servants, or so Jaime reckons, he doesn't really keep track on them. He can't help but frown as Cersei apparently stops to say something to the girl.

Why would she be talking to her? Usually, she snaps at them to get out of her sight, at best.

He screws his eyes almost shut to get a better view of her. She seems familiar for some reason, but Jaime can't put his finger on it.

The young knight gathers his things and disappears back into the Red Keep, out of the hawk's sight.

* * *

Later the day, he can spot the raven girl again, now finally alone. Jaime couldn't stop thinking about her. It was the way his sister gestured, the way the corners of her mouth moved that irritated him, and this odd sense of familiarity that didn't leave him all day long.

He draws closer, studying her features, but still, his memory won't kick in to give him the right answer.

"Young Lady over there, could you wait up a minute, please?" he nods at her, putting on a nice smile as he approaches the girl, who almost jumps as he approaches her.

"No need to worry, young Lady," he assures her quickly. "Would you mind to have a little chat with a man of the Kingsguard?"

"I am most sorry, Ser, but… but I am not supposed to. I must go, I…," the girl bites her lower lip nervously, averts her eyes.

And that is when Jaime remembers.

That was the same girl who was supposed to tend to Brienne when she was here for the ball. She is one of the servants Cersei brought along from Casterly Rock when she was married to Robert.

"You need not worry. If I ask for your service, no lord or lady or king or queen will punish you for it," he tells her in a soothing voice.

"Then… then what can I do for you, Ser?" she asks, her voice trembling.

"You were responsible for looking after the Lady Brienne, weren't you?" he asks, to which the girl nods frantically. "Did you also handle her messages?"

"Yes, Ser," she nods.

"Did you ever give her one in my name?" he asks.

"Of course not, Ser," she replies.

"Of course not? You mean to say that you wouldn't have delivered one of my messages to Lady Brienne, had I asked you for it?" he looks at her.

"What? No, no, I… I just mean to say that I didn't deliver any message to her in your name, because… because you never told me to have one delivered, right?" she looks at him with huge brown eyes. He feels bad for the girl, but he just has the feeling that she is entangled into this web, too.

"I didn't, but curiously enough, a message reached Lady Brienne, and it said that I wanted to see her in my chambers. I know that for certain. Now I ask myself how it comes that this message was delivered when you say that you were responsible for Lady Brienne's messages and you just assured me that you never gave her a message in my name," Jaime goes on.

"I, I don't know, Ser," she replies, blinking furiously.

"What is your name, young Lady?" he asks in a soft voice.

"Steph," she replies.

"Steph, you need not worry that you will be punished if you tell me about something that someone else asked you to do. This is between us two, I assure you, by my knight's honour," he tells her.

However much that is worth, still.

"But…," she bites her lower lip.

"I know that Lady Cersei, I mean Your Grace, asked someone to deliver that mail. I just want to know if it was you or someone else," he tells her. The girl straightens up, much like Brienne, looking more like a longbow than a girl. "You don't have to say a word. A nod or a shake of the head is me enough."

She nods, bowing her head even more.

"And you may nod again if you like: Did the Queen ever ask your service before?" Jaime goes on to question, and again a nod.

"Did she promise you money in turn?" he asks. She shakes her head, "No, no money. She said she'd leave me my life, Ser."

"Yeah, that sounds like her," Jaime grunts.

"But I didn't do anything much back then, during the fair," she says mutely.

"The fair?" he tilts his head.

"I was just supposed to look, Ser," she insists.

So she had them spied already back then. He really should have known.

"What did you observe?" he asks. "Or what did you tell her that you saw?"

"Ser," she grimaces.

"Has Lady Brienne mistreated you?" he asks. The girl shakes her head nervously, "Not at all. She even gave me a few dragons, though I didn't do anything out of the ordinary for her. She said I shan't walk around in my shoes anymore because they were so worn out that I walked a little crooked."

Jaime can't help but smirk. Because that is the Brienne he knows and always looked up to for her kindness only those will see who keep their eyes on her. She never made her kindness a big deal, because it is none to her, though it might well be a great deal to a girl who surely has nothing much to get herself new shoes.

"I bet you thought nothing bad of it," Jaime nods. "But since Lady Brienne treated you kindly, and since I am her friend, you may want to tell me what you told the Queen. Again, you needn't be afraid. No one will know that you told me."

"I just said that you went to the fair and that you two… seemed close," the girl admits, averting her gaze again. "I mean, I just said that you walked on arm-in-arm and chatted and laughed, but that's all, Ser. T'is the truth, I swear it. I thought nothing of it because I didn't know the Lady back then. I just thought… I just did what Milady's asked me for."

"I bet," he offers a small smile. "And she had you summoned again to have you deliver the message to Lady Brienne to come to my chambers, is that right?"

"Yes, she's made me deliver mails to you. She's said to put them in the pile on your table. She said that she'd borrowed them from you and I was to return them. The Queen's said that I shan't put them at the top, because they were old, but to have one stick out for you to see that she's had them returned. She said I should keep things as they were so that you order isn't disrupted. So I just took a heap and put them under. And after that I was supposed to tell the Lady Brienne to come to your chambers," the girl says, her voice and gestures frantic. Jaime pats her on the shoulder, "Thank you for telling me the truth. You needn't worry. I won't let the Queen know that you shared that secret with me."

He reaches into his pocket to take out a few dragons he hands to the girl, "For your honesty. Just make sure you don't use it up at once, or else the Queen might suspect a thing, alright?"

"Yes, Ser, thanks, Ser, and… and sorry, Ser, I didn't mean to do any bad," she looks at him with huge eyes.

"It is alright. You had no choice, Steph. So now, be on your way. You did everything right," he assures her. The raven girl hurries away, stuffing the dragons into a small pouch she keeps beneath her clothes, before disappearing in the next hallway.

"Jaime!"

The knight turns around at once, fearing that he was caught after all, but only finds Tyrion and Pod approaching.

"Gods, I told you time and time again that sneaking up on people is disgraceful," Jaime grunts.

"Yeah, since you did that once a little too successfully with our former King, ey?" he huffs, though Jaime knows how to take Tyrion's comments, with a sense of humour, and preferably a cup of wine. "I've talked to Father another time. He's steadfast on having me ask for Brienne's hand. I wouldn't be surprised if Cersei didn't push him further. This is her one reassurance that she gets her will at last, especially since she gets my head as an extra if I don't give in. I will sail tomorrow morn… you look a bit distressed, and that even though _I_ had to talk to the old man about this forced union."

Jaime pulls the dwarf closer, "I just talked to the maid who was responsible for Brienne during her last stay here. She was the one who delivered the message to Brienne to come to my room, and she was the one who's put the letters there, after Cersei asked her for it."

"Hm, since I don't think we should punish a young girl for doing what her Queen's asked her for, I don't see how that contributes to what we already know," Tyrion grimaces.

"She came with her to King's Landing during the melee, too. She's spied on us during the fair," Jaime goes on.

"Oh, that little viper," Tyrion narrows his eyes angrily.

"She's said to Cersei that she and I seemed close, because we linked arms that night," Jaime goes on.

"I am ever the more under the impression that Brienne's ventail broke not only by chance," Tyrion huffs.

"I fear so, too," Jaime nods.

"Well, that explains that, but we have to think of our next steps," Tyrion argues.

"There are next steps other than you packing your bags for Tarth?" Jaime grimaces.

"In fact there are," Tyrion nods. "C'mon, you will accompany me to see Maester Pycelle."

"I thought we agreed on that we hate him?" Jaime grimaces, tagging along anyway as Tyrion starts to move, Pod short up behind them.

"And that is what I will always say straight to the old bastard's face," Tyrion shrugs. "No, no, I want to ask him a few questions."

The three make their way to the Maester's room.

"Pod? You'll be so good and make sure we aren't interrupted, yes?" Tyrion tells him, and Pod nods in understanding, "Of course, Lord Tyrion. If someone comes, I shall let you know."

"That's my boy," Tyrion chuckles, clapping him on the thigh before walking inside along with Jaime.

"Ser Jaime, Lord Tyrion. What brings you here?" the old man questions, almost dropping the glasses he had in his hands.

"We wanted to have a private word with you," Tyrion says with fake glee. "We need your expertise."

"Well, I hope I can be of help," Maester Pycelle replies.

"We can only hope so for you, too," Jaime shrugs, making the old man frown, his features tensing visibly.

"Do you know a man by name Duvall? A Maester, from Tarth?" Tyrion asks in a calm voice, glancing at his fingernails.

"I… No, that name doesn't sound familiar, I am sorry," the man blinks at them.

"Oh, then maybe his alter ego, Jaden Tar? They used to call him Jaden Dice because he was so much into rolling the dice in the hope of a bit of wealth?" Tyrion questions.

"As I said, I know no man of that name. If that is all, then…," Pycelle says, whirling around as suddenly Jaime draws his sword from its sheath and has the man pinned down on the table, the glasses rattling.

"By the Gods, let me go!" the man shrieks. "I am a Maester, an honourable man of the Small Council, I…"

"You are an old manwhore who is good for nothing," Tyrion corrects him, stepping closer. "Now, since we know that your memory tends to fail you, we will push your mind a little in the right direction. Regard the sword to your gooseneck as a small reminder of the urgency of our request."

"Help!" Maester Pycelle means to scream, but Jaime tightens his grip on him. "The next time I hear you cry out, my sword will strike somewhere beside your throat."

His sword hovers over his lower body threateningly to underline the point.

"Which would be a pity, truly, after all, it brings you so much delight," Tyrion chuckles softly. "So now, back to our question. Yes or no, do you know Maester Duvall, formerly known as Jaden Tar, or Jaden Dice?"

"Yes, yes. He's an old friend of mine," he admits.

Some men are bears.

Some men are hares.

And some are nothing but mice.

"Now, was that so difficult?" Tyrion exhales. "So now, since you are the personal physician of the royal family, we need to know one more little thing. And you'd better not be lying to us, or else your little thing might be fed to the dogs little time from now."

"You would not," Maester Pycelle looks at Tyrion, then at Jaime, who shrugs, "I stabbed a King from behind. Do you really think I bother about cutting off an old Maester's cock?"

"We want to know if the Queen is with child. She must have sought you out about the matter, if she is. How else would she have certainty, right?" Tyrion asks.

"I, I can't just give out such personal information, by my honour," the old man insists weakly, but the cold steel of Jaime's sword pressing against the man's crotch is enough to draw out the truth with a girlish shriek. "No, no, she cannot be. I am most certain! Just put that sword away! Put it away!"

"How do you know for certain?" Tyrion asks, unimpressed.

"Put it away!" Pycelle keeps cursing.

"I wouldn't wriggle so much, or else you'll end up cutting yourself," Jaime adds, unimpressed, as the man shifts against his iron grip.

"She sought me out only just yesterday, for a brew I always make her to help with the cramps the women get every moon," the Maester says nervously.

"And it can't be used for something else?" Tyrion asks.

"No, no, it just eases these cramps. That's what it's for, nothing else. So she surely isn't with child," Maester Pycelle shrieks, at least one octave higher in tone.

"Now, was that so difficult?" Tyrion says in a mocking tone, tapping the old man on the cheek, pulling on his beard teasingly once. He nods at Jaime, who withdraws his sword and releases the man from his iron grip.

"And I will be so kind to remind you once: If you dare to say anything to anyone about our little conversation here… let's just say that my brother mastered the arts of sneaking up on people. I wouldn't wonder if your member disappeared while you are deep in slumber, if not your entire life along with it… and even if not… I may or may not tell others about your adventures in Lord Baelish's exclusive establishment. I don't know if King Robert would trust a man who is nothing but an old whore and forgets how to mix the right brews in years," Tyrion tells him a light tone, though the old man gets the serious threat hidden behind the feigned smile.

"I am really sneaky," Jaime adds with a sinister grin.

"I… I understand. This conversation never took place," Maester Pycelle says, bowing his head.

"What conversation?" Tyrion chuckles as the two make their way out the door, leaving the Maester falling onto his chair, breathing hard.

"You should definitely clean that sword thoroughly. Who knows what he has on him," Tyrion makes a face.

"I fear I will have to throw it away," Jaime grimaces, but then lets out a sigh of pure relief.

No child.

No bastard.

Just his incestuous sin, but no child that will be born bearing this mark.

"I'd say we have one problem less now," Tyrion says, licking his lips, as he, Jaime, and Pod start to walk down the corridors again.

One step forward at last.

However much that will be worth now, given that they are still caught up in a maze.


	36. Rash

The next morning, Cersei, Lord Tywin, and Tyrion stand by the port as the boat leading to Tarth is about to sail.

"So you remember what you are supposed to do and say?" Tywin questions.

"Be charming, drink less, don't whore around, and make sure that the marriage contract is to our advantage. Yes, yes," Tyrion rolls his eyes. "Do I really get bodyguards to make sure that I do that?"

He glares at the now hooded men his father arrived with who are seemingly there to kill him off in case Tyrion decides to act in Brienne's favour after all, or try to escape his duties.

Not many men get to share their cabin with their hangmen. At some point Tyrion reckons he should feel prided that his father considers a dwarf that much of a threat to send three along.

"I just want to be certain that you don't let personal feelings win over your political mission," Tywin shrugs. "If you do as it is required of you, you will be a wealthy man, and will be a trusted member of the Lannister clan."

"And here I thought your son was by birth," Tyrion snorts.

"I wonder where Jaime is…," Tywin makes a face, looking around.

"He and I had a fight last night. I fear he won't come to bid farewell," Tyrion replies with a grimace. "You know how close he is to Brienne."

"Just as are you," Cersei glares at him, arms folded in front of her apparently oh so flat stomach.

"Jaime thinks with his heart. I think with my head. And I don't think that I stand much of a chance against three trustworthy man of my father's guard, no?" Tyrion replies promptly.

"Well, I guess I can wish you and the cow only the best," Cersei replies, forcing a smile.

"Oh, thank you so much, dearest sister. You can't imagine how much that means to me," Tyrion cries out. "Does that mean I get a hug? Oh, you!"

Tyrion goes ahead to embrace her tightly around the calves, and Cersei has to fight with all her might not to kick him away.

"Ah, that lightened up this dark day for me at last," Tyrion says as he pulls away. He turns to his father, "Well, then I suppose I should better be on my way."

"Indeed. Just keep in mind…," Tywin means to say, but Tyrion calls over his shoulder, "Yeah, yeah, I know! Have a safe voyage back to Casterly Rock! And sister?"

"What?" she looks at him.

"I hope your reign will be fruitful!" he calls after her before he disappears on the ship. Cersei narrows her eyes at him as the ship starts to sail.

"The little monster is surely up to something," she growls.

"You are the one to talk," her father replies grimly.

"What now?" she huffs.

"You knew about Lady Brienne's wealth before that ball, didn't you?" Tywin questions. "But instead of telling _me_ so that I could have arranged for your brother to marry her, you kept it to yourself."

"You get what you want now, don't you?" she argues. "Your son marries the cow, the rich cow."

"I am not talking about Tyrion," Tywin replies, turning around. "Brienne of Tarth would have been a wonderful opportunity for me to draw Jaime back to Casterly Rock, had I promised him marriage to her, now that she is prestigious enough a match to help the Lannister clan."

"Well, that option is good all the same," Cersei grimaces. "Whether you get your riches from Tyrion or Jaime shouldn't matter for as long as the gemstones end up in your treasury."

"By no means," Tywin replies. "I won't be forever, and Jaime is the only one I will give Casterly Rock to. Or do you really think I will give it to Tyrion? I came here to talk to your husband about releasing Jaime from his duty, but he denied me, for some reason finding the vow they make suddenly oh so important, which is rather laughable in my view. Or maybe you just said you'd cross your legs if he didn't do as he is told and leaves you your plaything. I don't know, I don't really care either. So I had to go with Tyrion to somehow get a hand on the wealth at least, but that is by no means the same option as would have been the first."

"I still fail to understand why you find it oh so urgent," she argues.

"Because it is. This is my attempt of making sure that the family's wealth is secured, even if it is through Tyrion instead of Jaime. We need the money more than you'd ever know," Tywin explains to her.

"We are rich," Cersei grimaces.

"No longer as much. Rebellions are expensive," Tywin shrugs. "And the rumour goes around that our mines will dry out in the near future."

"That must be a lie," Cersei argues.

"It is not, which is why we need that money. I hope for Lady Brienne's sake that she proves to be smarter than I took her to be, and that she will agree to a marriage to our conditions of having the wealth to secure Casterly Rock foremost," Tywin says. "If not, I fear we will have to dispose of her, which would be a pity."

"Now don't tell me you have a soft spot for the giant cow, too," Cersei grunts.

"By no means. I care little about her. I only care about her function to your brother," Tywin replies. "And only the Gods know that I would rather have him anywhere but here close to you."

Cersei narrows her eyes at him, "But that is not up to you to say, since I am Queen and Jaime is a man of the Kingsguard."

"Exactly," Tywin replies. "So you should put your faith in Tyrion to keep Lady Brienne in good health. If not… I don't know if your twin brother will be very much delighted about their demise, or seek comfort in your arms ever again."

"Is this supposed to be some twisted kind of threat you think you can impose on your adult daughter, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms no less?" she questions.

"No, just an outlook," he replies as they walk back to the Red Keep.

* * *

Cersei grimaces, sitting at her study, her hands nervously flexing, shifting in her seat.

Jaime is nowhere to be found.

She has asked several servants to look for him in the Red Keep, without any result. She even sent people out into the city, through the inns and forges, all the way to the port and back. None of the Brothers saw him either. He did not answer his duties to the Iron Throne, didn't seek out Robert, or her. His room was empty, too. The monster's chamber was empty likewise.

Cersei knows that Jaime is not in the least pleased about the latest developments, but he is supposed to be here, with her. After all, she told him the one thing that should bind him. Jaime always put the family first.

So where is he to put her first now?

Or at least the child she offered him?

"Your Grace?" a voice rings out. Cersei whips her head around to the young servant boy with red curls and freckles, "Have you found him at last?"

"No, Your Grace," the boy replies, shaking his head, earning him only a hiss from her, "Then why did you interrupt me?"

"Uhm, we found something else, Your Grace...," the lad says, his voice trailing off.

"Just say it," she demands in a harsh voice, tired of this game already, shifting on her stool another time.

"We found something in the dungeons, Your Grace. Three man, stripped to their smallclothes, beaten up, and manacled," he tells her.

"And how is that of my concern?" she makes a face.

"They claim to be your Father Lord Tywin's men, Your Grace," the ginger tells her.

Cersei blinks repeatedly, trying to process the news.

Her father returned to Casterly Rock, since his only business in King's Landing was the word with the King and setting Tyrion for the marriage to the giant cow.

That means... No, that can't be.

"What?! Who did that? What did they say?" she demands, her hands clenching the fabric of her dress.

"They said three shadows, Your Grace. They are still rather dazed, though," the servant tells her.

"The little monster," she shrieks, getting up, making the boy look at her stunned, "Your Grace?"

She gets up and pushes past him to make her way to the King's study.

"Robert!" she yells as she stomps inside. Robert sits behind his massive wooden table, looking up annoyed, "What is it, wife? I am busy."

"I demand that you let the fastest ship sail to Tarth, to take my little brother prisoner," she hisses, stepping closer, gritting her teeth like a lioness.

"For what crime?" Robert asks, rather annoyed.

"For having abducted Ser Jaime Lannister," she replies, her jaw a straight line, her face red.

" _Abducted_? I don't think the Imp bears enough strength to overpower or knock out your twin brother to abduct him," Robert chuckles rather amused.

"Do you mean to mock me?" she curses, narrowing her eyes.

"No, no, by no means, I just don't see that I would do such a thing only because my wife is throwing a tantrum," Robert shrugs. "And is paranoid while at it."

"Jaime is your sworn knight, and the little monster must have abducted him! Maybe he had help! Maybe his squire did it!" Cersei goes on.

"If the squire or the Imp managed, then I think it'd be better if your brother is gone. That would be a shame for any member of my Kingsguard," Robert argues.

"He is the best man of your Kingsguard!" Cersei growls.

"And not my most trusted member, let's say. That I pardoned him wasthe required service to your family. But I won't send ships to Tarth for the matter. I need those ships," Robert replies promptly.

"All of them?" she demands.

"All of them," he repeats, nodding his head.

"You can't be sincere," Cersei shrieks.

"Oh, I am more than sincere," Robert tells her sternly.

"What do you need them for?" she demands.

"I don't have to tell you," he shrugs.

"I am your wife!" Cersei yells.

"And I am your King," Robert declares, his voice gaining more and more threat and power with every intake of air.

"You giant boar! You say you wouldn't act like a hotspur? When in fact that was what made you start an entire Rebellion?! Do I mean that little to you as your wife?" Cersei curses.

"I never beat you, I never raped you, and I married you even though I don't trust Lannisters, especially since I got a Kingslayer delivered right to have my back. I treated you with as much respect as can be asked for," Robert tells her, to which she lets out a strangled cry, "Don't you dare say that! You fuck all those whores and spread bastards all over King's Landing! All know it!"

"And still I treat you as my Queen, even though you are truly anything but an innocent lamb. If you lose your plaything, it is hardly my fault," Robert shrugs, little impressed.

"You will send a ship, or I will," Cersei threatens him, but Robert just shakes his head, "No ship will leave unless I give my permission."

"You can't mean that," she growls.

"I think I do mean it. You should learn your place," Robert replies sternly, leaving Cersei stunned for a moment.

"I am Queen," she retorts.

"Again, and I am your King. That means you take your commands from me, not I from you. Unless you can prove me that your little brother committed a crime, I won't move a single finger," Robert says.

"He took Jaime," Cersei insists.

"Did you see that? Or did Jaime just take off?" Robert questions.

"Three men my Father came with were manacled in the dungeons, their garments taken. They were supposed to go with the little monster to Tarth. Jaime must have been forced to take one of their spots to hide his identity!" Cersei tells him.

"What if Tyrion just didn't want his father's entourage with him, and took steps to have them in the dungeons to escape their grasp? Did that ever cross your mind? What if Tyrion took off to Tarth while your brother took off just another direction? You can actually count yourself lucky that I don't send after Jaime," Robert tells her.

"Why don't you?" she frowns, her voice shaking.

"Because you are my wife, that is why," Robert replies.

"What now?" she makes a face.

"If your brother actually ran off on purpose, then he broke his vow to the King. On that sin stands either death penalty or the Wall. Now you tell me, would you want your brother in either place? Just say a word and I will send after him. I will chase him to death, no bother," he warns her. "I grant you that choice because you are my wedded wife. So? What will it be? Do you accuse him of treason?"

"… No," she says at last, her shoulders dropping as the feeling of a small defeat rains down on her.

"That's what I thought," Robert says, picking up one of the parchments to inspect it. "Is there anything else?"

"No," she says, gritting her teeth.

"Then let me finish up my papers in all peace, wife. I have better to do than bother myself with your sinful feelings for a man you shouldn't love the way you do," Robert says. "It's shame enough for us both in a lifetime."

"How dare you?" she hisses.

"I am the King, that is how I dare," Robert replies. Cersei bristles with rage as she turns around to leave.

"Oh, and by the way?" Robert calls after her as Cersei stomps to the door.

"Yes?" she snarls.

"Have Maester Pycelle check out that rash you seem to develop between your thighs. You rub your legs together like a girl in heat. And for that you are getting too old already," Robert says. Cersei has to try hard not to cry out in rage and humiliation as the images of Tyrion hugging her flood back into her mind.

"The little monster," she growls to herself as she disappears into the shadows of the Red Keep, red herself.

* * *

Far earlier, Jaime and Tyrion are in Tyrion's room.

"Well, even if torturing Pycelle was very much delightful, I still fear that there is no way for us to call Cersei upon Lord Selwyn's murder, or all the other things she did," Tyrion sighs, folding his hands on his stomach, leaning back in his chair. "She's the Queen. Even if she admitted it in front of all of King's Landing, no one would bother because she is. And anyways, this is still considered bon ton if not a small crime by the rest of the world."

"So we still have the same problem… except for one bastard child less to worry about," Jaime grimaces.

"Well, you should ask yourself why she told you that lie, other than that she lies a whole lot, and that comes from someone who is fluid in that tongue, too," Tyrion snorts.

"She wants to keep me here," Jaime shrugs. "But I don't see why she did that, because she knows that I can't leave because of my duties to the Kingsguard. One word to Robert, and I won't ever step out of King's Landing in a lifetime again."

"You escaped once, when Lord Selwyn died. And that was something she truly never saw coming. I saw it in her eyes on our way back to Casterly Rock. And I think that she still harbours her wish of having Brienne in Tarth forever, married to whoever. She still has to fear that Father will show his much more spiteful side and use a marriage between her and me to get her wealth by virtue of her demise and get rid of his dwarf along with her," Tyrion says, chewing on his lower lip. "So if he decides to have Brienne killed, Cersei has to fear that Brienne will become the eternal flame to you, and that you would avoid her in the future. The only way to bind you to her is by means of sex… and since you seemingly didn't do that in a while, for which I'm more than glad, our dear sister only has the good old excuse of a child. Because she knows that you wouldn't just leave one of your family, even less your own spawn."

"But she is apparently not pregnant," Jaime argues.

"And she will likely lie with Robert if you don't let her close any time soon, to make it appear as though she was pregnant all the while. No one would be able to tell the difference," Tyrion shrugs. "So we just have to ask ourselves how we get you to see Brienne so that you can fix things between you two, so that I don't have to lose my pretty head, and you two finally stop being foolish knights who are too bull-headed to admit that you are head over heels for each other."

Jaime looks at him, still stunned.

"What? Now don't say that this pure invention. I've seen you two interact, and if Cersei thinks that Brienne, whom she wouldn't ever consider a rival otherwise, is a match to her that she has to get rid of, then you can guess that you have been fairly obvious," Tyrion argues.

"I can't marry her," Jaime insists. "Even if I wanted."

"Oh please," Tyrion rolls his eyes in exasperation.

"If I had asked Father to let me marry her instead of you, offering him to become Lord of Casterly Rock in turn, Cersei would have done anything within her powers to remove her, because then Brienne would have been a real rival to her, and way too much within Cersei's reach," Jaime argues. "She has a lot of secret allies in Casterly Rock, still, I am sure."

"True," Tyrion shrugs.

"And I can't marry her because my oath to the King means that if I were to deny it and run off to her without reclaiming lordship, and she'd take me by any chance… she'd be in danger, because she'd help a deserter," Jaime hisses in a low voice. Tyrion tilts his head to the side, "So that is the part of the oath that hindered you all the while?"

"What else would?" Jaime shrugs.

He just never wanted to endanger her.

Jaime just always wanted to know her safe, however much of a fallacy that is in the retrospective, since he failed miserably at the task.

"Why didn't you say _that_ to her after the ball?" Tyrion rolls his eyes. "Then we wouldn't have this drama here presently, well, still a lot, but maybe less. At least she would likely hate you less."

"It wouldn't have changed a thing to her," Jaime argues. "I betrayed her that night, that's the thing. And sadly... that is something Cersei had not do with, really. I made the decision, even if I only did it in the honest belief that I would spare her something... Gods. I never should have donned the White."

"Yeah, if you had stuck to being a knight only, without the fancy cloak, we may not have the trouble now, but then again, it as you say, we don't know what Cersei would have done with Brienne, had you made her Lady of Casterly Rock," Tyrion grimaces. "Lannisters are really poison and venom. Maybe we should have snakes instead of lions for a banner."

"Maybe," Jaime exhales.

"So did you don the White only for Cersei?" Tyrion questions. "To make sure that you were off the market?"

"No... I also did it for her," Jaime admits.

"What was that supposed to do for Brienne?" his younger brother asks.

"She looked up to me for living a knight's life. She wanted to be a knight for all her life, you know that, though she realised that she'd never rise above the state of a sword. We both wanted to be knights, and at some point she wanted it for me as much as I wanted it for myself, too. She never wanted me to be anything but this and… I wanted to be this, to be more like the man she wanted… the one man she deserved, but I am… not good enough for her. I mean her really no good, Tyrion. You've witnessed it first-hand. Because of me, her life was destroyed, because Cersei saw a rival in her all this time," Jaime insists. "Maybe I should have just let her marry Lord Styde. I don't know."

"A band of bastard children came to King's Landing and cut off his tongue, didn't you hear?" Tyrion chuckles softly.

"His bastards took revenge on him?" Jaime blinks at him.

"Yes! Well, not all of them, but a few that ended up in King's Landing as servants. They gathered, and when they caught him entering one of the Silk Street's establishments, they had easy play," Tyrion shrugs.

"Weren't they charged for it?" Jaime questions.

"Who would? Half of the people in the Silk Street, at best, don't work there on their own will. They are slaves, too. One could say that they hold a kind of personal connection and fondness for other slaves," Tyrion shrugs.

"There are no slaves in King's Landing," Jaime argues.

"Tell that the servants, whores, and maids," Tyrion huffs.

"True again, but well, that serves him right, I guess," Jaime rolls his shoulders.

"Well, even if I managed to somehow bypass a marriage to Brienne without Father getting my head in turn, she will still try to sell herself cheap in exchange for all her sapphires, that is unless I tell her the truth, of course, and given that she believes my words," Tyrion sighs.

"She should have gone with what I said to her, by the Gods," Jaime grunts.

"What did you say to her?" Tyrion cranes his neck.

"That she didn't have to marry a nobleman to secure her lands. I told her that she only needed someone to make her a child, and that it could be anybody," Jaime replies. Tyrion's eyes open wide. He suddenly hops off his chair, walks up to Jaime and hits him in the knee hard enough to make him bellow once, "What was that for?!"

"That's not what you say to a girl at all, you dull boar!" Tyrion tells him angrily. "The least Brienne."

"I said it to her, not knowing of the conspiracy, and I said it to her because I thought that she didn't have to sell herself that cheap. She only needed an heir back then, something that any man whose seed is not dried out yet can deliver with ease, even a Kingslayer…," Jaime mutters, as another pang of pain explodes in his knee. "Ow! Stop that already."

"Did you seriously suggest to Brienne that you could just make her a child in the belly?! How dense can a man be?!" Tyrion looks at him. "And how did Brienne not take off that night already, after she kicked you in the crotch for it?"

"She knows how I meant it. I offered it because I thought that this would spare her the marriage to some shady person. I thought that once she had an heir, she'd be fine. She could have gotten the child legitimised by Robert, I would have helped convince him, had it come to it, and she wouldn't have been forced to marry whoever," Jaime argues. "And she spew it back into my face after the ball anyways, because she thought that I did it all because I didn't want to let her go…"

"Which is apparently the truth?" Tyrion huffs. Jaime rolls his eyes, choosing not to comment.

"I said it could be a complete nobody. I just… I just couldn't bear the thought that she sold herself cheap. How was I supposed to know that there would be a low below that low?" Jaime grunts. "And now there is nothing I can do anymore. And I have to fear that you fall victim to this the same way she will. This is one nightmarish reality the Gods forced us into."

"Say that again," Tyrion blinks at him.

"Say what again?" Jaime blinks at him. "That this reality is a nightmare or that there is a low below the low?"

"No, the first part," Tyrion gestures wildly.

"I said to her that she could bed or wed a complete nobody, that it didn't really matter, because…," Jaime means to go on, but he is cut off by Tyrion tapping against his thigh repeatedly, "By the Gods!"

"What now?" Jaime frowns, perplex.

"You may have said something smart for once, something incredibly smart. Maybe some comet will hit the ground now, or this is the foreshadowing for the apocalypse. By the Seven," Tyrion says, turning around on the back of the heel once.

"Huh?" Jaime tilts his head at him.

"That might be the way at last. Ha!" Tyrion claps his hands together. "That I didn't think of it!"

"Tyrion, talk to me," Jaime demands. "I don't understand your thoughts unless you speak them out loud."

"Just like in the old tales, just like in Brienne's stories. Oh I love stories for that. Maybe we live in one after all," Tyrion grins, drawing closer to his brother as he starts to spin a new tale, or so it seems.

* * *

Presently, Tyrion and Jaime hold wooden cups in their hands, balancing them against the ship rocking back and forth in the tide.

"I'd say cheers to a first success," Tyrion says, raising his cup to his brother, who returns slightly, lost in thought. The younger man takes a sip from his drink. Thank the Gods that their father didn't ban the wine from the ship before they sailed, or else this voyage would be much more of a challenge for the youngest brother.

"Did you really have to sprinkle that stuff on Cersei's dress before we went? Don't you think that's a little childish to give her a rash?" Jaime grimaces, thinking back to Tyrion's immature glee when he presented the bottle to his older brother, stating that some tricks never grow old.

"Childish maybe, but I have to take my small victories. We don't know if we will have a grand victory after all. For that, too much is still up in the air and out of reach," Tyrion shrugs. "And in any case, you can say all you want, but I see that small grin tugging at your lips the same way."

"Fine," Jaime rolls his eyes, sipping more of his wine.

"Well, but these are all successes in small, which don't imply our overall victory by any means. I can't say for certain that things will pan out for you especially. I am rather optimistic about Pod, Steph, and myself, but _you_?" Tyrion makes a face.

He knows it was and still is beyond risky. Tyrion usually doesn't like to walk into a situation blindfolded, but that is what they do.

While the idea to have Pod, Steph, and Jaime act as the three men supposed to be sent with him by donning thier clothes, proved to be good enough, those were all small things to handle in King's Landing that won't do much once they are in Tarth.

Not to mention that Cersei might still work some evil kind of magic even from across the other shore. One can never know.

"That's what's going through my mind, too," Jaime exhales.

"Do you think you are ready?" Tyrion asks.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't," Jaime shrugs. "Once I set my mind on something, I don't let go easily. You should know."

"Yeah, sometimes you are more of a bloodhound than a lion," Tyrion chuckles softly.

"Hm, might be," Jaime shrugs. "Dogs are loyal. I would like that attribute a lot."

"Am I the only one who has to think back to _The Knight, the Devil, and the Beggar_?" Tyrion grimaces.

"That story seemingly became our life much realer than I would like it to be at times," Jaime grimaces. "And that everyone dies in the end is not really making me optimistic."

"We all die in the end. That is what unites us humans," Tyrion shrugs.

"You are morbid," Jaime grunts, taking a sip of his wine.

"Realistic," Tyrion argues. "Mixed with a bit of dream, I must admit. I mean, death has this epic moment of redemption, doesn't it? Washing us free of our sins? I always found that thought quite nice."

"That'd be nice indeed," Jaime exhales. "Though I don't fancy the first part."

"Oh well, it depends on the death you choose," Tyrion argues.

"That is up to our choice?" Jaime chuckles softly.

"If we take the sword into our own hands, then yes, then even the devil can't get in-between," Tyrion shrugs. "As Ser Gabriel taught us."

"Cheers to that," Jaime says, raising his cup. Tyrion clinks his cup against his and both drink as the black waves crush outside, and the wind moves them forward, further into the shadows of the night, a sole star shining in the distance.


	37. Blood

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking around, favoriting, following, and commenting. You folks are awe-some.

In reply to my wonderful reviewers:

To Quindecim: Thank you so much. I am glad that you like it, especially the Tyrion/Jaime team-ups. They are very dear to me, too.

To patty-clark.792: I am sorry for the daggers in your heart. It surely wasn't my intention. Let's see what the last chapters can do for you and your tortured heart. And by the way, I never thought I would receive so many kill-Cersei-requests. It's amazing how many want to see her die, but again, I can't guarantee it.

To Coque: Thank you for reviewing again! I can agree with you that violence against women is not cool, but imagined violence to Cersei is always very tempting, though I cannot promise that I will do something "physical" to Cersei. And yes, Tyrion is one smart cookie, so let's hope that he has it all figured out... which is to say that I hopefully have everything figured out.

We are slowly but surely heading for the grand finale, folks! I have wrestled with myself if I want to let it end like I have it in mind, because there's, yet again, so much drama, but... if you start on the drama once, you have to follow through with it till the bitter end!

In any case, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, too ;)

* * *

At last, the small ships lands in Tarth. Upon Tyrion's suggestion, Jaime stays under deck with Steph and Podrick, fearing that Brienne may have had her people instructed to go after the Kingslayer with pitchforks and burning torches if they were to see him set foot upon Tarth's ground.

"... So, Pod? Are you alright with the prospect of this mission, given that it will be successful?" Jaime asks, trying to distract himself from the severity of the situation.

"I trust Lord Tyrion," Pod shrugs. "He's always been good to me."

"It's hard to believe that you didn't grow sick of your Lord yet. The little devil surely didn't teach you the knightly ways, only those leading to the brothels and the inns," Jaime chuckles softly.

"We've been to inns and brothels, yes, but he's taught me what he knows. I know who's married to whom, I know the houses, I know who's foe and who's ally. I always took it for an advantage," the young man replies. "And in any case, I heard the rumours about the Lady Knight who's almost won against you in melee. I've only seen her from far when she was in King's Landing for the ball. I would like to get to know her better."

"If it comes to it, you'll meet a knight at last," Jaime replies. "Though you really seem to be an easy-believing lad. I mean, you just go with the Imp and the Kingslayer of a quest of likely no return?"

"As I said, I trust Lord Tyrion. And I trust you, too. You've never been bad to me," Pod replies. "And Lord Tyrion's said that either you or her would help me become a knight at last."

"I didn't know you actually had the ambition," Jaime winks at him.

Pod is usually stuck handling Tyrion's messages or his cups of wine, which he does without ever contemplating, something that Jaime always admired about the lad, and something that Brienne would surely like to see, too.

"I always did, but as you say, Lord Tyrion is a Lord foremost, no Ser. So I'd be glad if a knight taught me the knightly ways properly," Pod replies.

"Well, we'll see about that, I reckon," Jaime shrugs. "Though I'm most definitely no good address to turn to when it comes to knightly virtues, you may have noticed by now."

"I shan't think too far, Ser Jaime. If it happens, it will, if not, I'm Lord Tyrion's squire with all my heart," Pod replies truthfully.

"I see why he is so fond of you," Jaime winks at him.

"He is?" Pod blinks at him.

"It's not easy to gain my brother's trust, if you aren't his kin. And you have his trust for certain, Pod, of that much you can be sure," Jaime tells him. Pod smiles to himself.

"And you, Steph?" Jaime tilts his head to her.

Somehow, he finds chatting almost soothing. He is good at small-talk, good enough to the point that he forgets his worry, and pays little attention to how his left hand keeps shaking.

"I am still thankful that you took me along," the girl says. "I didn't dare believe that you would till last."

She thought she'd be fed to the pigs little time from then, once the Queen would have found out about Ser Jaime's and Lord Tyrion's disappearance. She's seen her do things like that before, and for less reason than this, but then the squire Podrick told her to pack her things and come with if she wanted to get out of King's Landing. He didn't have to tell her twice.

"We needed one more armour to fill. I'm still glad that you are rather tall in frame so they didn't realise you as a woman wearing an armour. Brienne would surely like that part of the story," Jaime says, but then adds with more severity, "Not to mention that we had to fear for your life after you told us the truth. So the least we could do was to take you along."

"But… I helped the Queen," she argues, because that is something she still fails to understand. Steph understood that the Lady of Tarth was kind to her to give her the dragons for the new shoes, just like she understood that Ser Jaime just wanted the truth from her, but that he does not want her blood for her betrayal is beyond her somehow.

"You don't have to be afraid of Brienne judging you for it. She understands when someone is forced into actions she would usually not undertake. She might be mulish at times, but she knows better than to punish those who were forced. And in fact, all you did was to lie once and bring some letters. Brienne will see it the same way, I am sure of it," Jaime assures her.

"I still feel bad for it," Steph grimaces.

"I played into the Queen's hands, too," Jaime offers with a small smile."She has more reason to hate me than you. And Tyrion will put in a good word for you for sure."

"I hope she can forgive me," Steph puckers her lips.

"As I said, I'm quite certain that she will," he assures her with a sympathetic look. "In any case, I think you'll like it here. I always did."

"I've never been to Tarth. All I know are castles from the inside, and some rocky trip from Casterly Rock to King's Landing, having seen only scenes passing by through the window of the carriage," Steph grimaces. "But anything's better than serving Queen Cersei… no offence."

"I am the last one to take it, at least now," Jaime huffs.

"Do you think Lord Tyrion will be able to convince her?" Pod asks.

"If he doesn't… then…," Jaime grimaces. "Can you two swim?"

Pod and Steph blink at him with wide eyes.

* * *

Meanwhile, Tyrion was escorted by a few sturdy men of the isle. Upon his questioning, they replied that they are part of Tarth's newly found militia. The men went on to almost muse about their heiress having established training arenas to educate all men willing in the arts of swords, bows, or battle axes so they may defend house and farm. Though many added with a swell of pride that they would also defend port, castle, and their Lady. Tyrion could do nothing but smile. At last people realised good spirit and rule despite the looks.

Took them long enough.

At last they reach Brienne's home. Tyrion is lead into the great hall, where he sees Brienne seated upon her 'throne'. He is glad to see her dressed in her usual garments, making her look more back in place. She hands a stack of papers to a young woman with red curls, muttering something to her. The girl gives a nod and a smile before she is gone. Brienne turns around, stunned at Tyrion's sight. She blinks a few times, still trying to comprehend, "Tyrion?"

He tries hard not to grimace at the blankness of her eyes, however. The ball surely left scars on her, proper garment notwithstanding.

"My dearest Lady of them all," he smiles at her, drawing closer. "It's a pleasure to see you. I hope I'm still invited into your house?"

"Why yes… but what brings you here?" she frowns at him.

Did Jaime send him to apologise in his name? She hopes not, because she would have to smack Tyrion to give the smack as a message to Jaime in turn.

"I bring ambiguous news from the main lands," Tyrion says, hands folded in the back.

"Which are?" she asks.

"My Father heard of your recent…discovery?" Tyrion begins, licking his lips. Brienne lets her head fall forward slightly.

At some point she should have seen it coming, but Brienne tried her best to keep her eyes closed ever since she returned to Tarth.

"Oh yes, I am a _wealthy_ ugly maiden. And as it seems, the wealth is what will seal my marriage at last… whoever comes first to claim it. I hoped that maybe I could withhold that bit of information to find myself someone who is made of honest kind of stuff, but then again… who in this world even is?" she exhales.

She had gone to the cave many times since her father's death, since the secret kiss that seemingly meant nothing in the end. And one time she went by night instead of day, not feeling any fear wash over her, neither any care for herself, so Brienne dove into the cave, only with a lantern to illuminate this place, which surely was hard enough to transport, but a few pouches stuffed into each other did the trick at last. And so Brienne had lit the candle, trying to forget the world itself for a little while, trying to get lost in the last bit of protection, the last bit of armour that was left intact. And only in that dim candlelight, now that bright, white daylight did no longer blur out the edges of the stone, only in the dim light that revealed all bumps and rough edges, all too much resembling herself, did Brienne see something rose blinking back at her.

All she had to do was to scratch a bit with her fingernails to have a shining gemstone in her hands. And for a moment, she could do nothing but let out a strangled laugh as tears welled up her eyes for reasons she could not explain.

She let the isle's jeweller have a closer look at the stone the following day, and he assured the Lady of Tarth that it was a sapphire, a pink one.

Brienne had struggled with herself for a while, not wanting to expose that last refuge she was able to keep over the years, the one reminder of a time when the world stopped turning and she found happiness in it for a brief moment. Yet, at last she made the decision to inform her people and have them ram chisels into the porous, rough stone, to bring out the shining gemstones that seemed to multiply with every day the men kept dismantling her secret armour. And her armour still pours out gemstones, every day more...

Brienne knew that this was a possible gateway to a marriage, but she didn't want to yield back then, didn't want to have a man by her side who'd only be after her sapphires. So when Duvall suggested to attend the ball in King's Landing, Brienne decided to keep that token to herself, against Duvall's insistence.

Bloody naïve thing she was.

However, once the ball was over and she fled to the port, to the sea, back home, she no longer cared about finding herself a man made of honest stuff.

She tossed the last token she didn't dare put in the balance before by sending out the call for any man willing to come.

If nothing good came of it but her ever so steady devotion to bring her lands to prosper. She will no longer hold back the means, Brienne vowed to herself on the way back to the Sapphire Isles, tears dried on her cheek, like crusted salt. She will use all means she has to make sure Tarth gets all her father asked for.

"Well, my Father… would obviously like to take part in that wealth," Tyrion goes on with a frown, not liking the defeat in her voice at all.

"You mean to say?" she looks at him.

"He asked me… to ask for your hand in marriage," Tyrion says.

"What?" she looks at him stunned.

"I was just as surprised," Tyrion snorts, slightly amused.

Brienne blinks once, twice, contemplating, the wheels inside her head turning round and round again.

"I didn't mean it as an offence," she insists quickly. She could never.

"And I took it for none," he winks at her.

"… Then what is ambiguous about the matter? Won't you ask for my hand now?" Brienne asks, surprisingly calm, but then again, it should likely not surprise him, given the current situation.

As Jaime always says, she wears her invisible armour.

"Ambiguous is that I hereby ask you for your hand without asking you for your hand, Milady," Tyrion replies.

"I lost you," she frowns.

"You haven't heard the whole story yet," Tyrion says, licking his lips.

"Story?" she repeats.

"I fear no pleasant tale, but one that needs to be told. It's not the story you deserve by any chance, but the one you deserve to hear nevertheless," Tyrion tells her solemnly. "For it is yours, too."

"Start at the beginning…," she says slowly, clutching the armrest of her chair ever the tighter, for the briefest of moments thinking back to her childhood when she made Jaime read _The Travelling Knight_ for the first time and told him that he was telling the story now, handed it over to him.

 _"You won't understand the story if you don't know what happened from the beginning on."_

 _"You have to start at the beginning. You have to travel with the story..."_

So because she wants to understand, she has to travel with the story, though Brienne fears that this is a quest she would rather not undertake.

"To take one point for a start, I would take the day a raven was shot from the sky, a raven with a message you sent to your childhood friend in the hope that he would come to rescue you from the binds of marriage to a bastard like Humfrey Wagstaff…," Tyrion begins the tale Brienne fears will be a dark one.

A real one, no less, though.

Brienne leads forward in her chair as Tyrion goes on telling this fearful tale, only hearing bits and pieces pierching through her flesh.

"As it appeared, your helmet was manipulated to give higher risk to injury…"

The words just rain down on her.

"You received three letters in short succession, informing you about your dear Father's condition that he was ill, then almost healed, and then fatally ill again, a process that is very uncommon."

The sounds just leave her dizzy.

"Lord Selwyn always signed his letters, even when his hands were aching, you said so yourself. And I know that he used to be right-handed. Curiously enough, the second signature appeared to be of a left-handed person, the same left-handed person who signed the last letter. Hence, it can be deduced that Maester Duvall was the one who faked his signature, to make sure that you would come too late to see your Father alive one last time, which gave rise not only to you being bound to Tarth, but also for you to never have a chance to get last instructions from Lord Selwyn, leaving only a written statement that may well have been manipulated, too, as your only guidance…"

Tyrion's voice grows weaker inside her head, fades away more and more as red appears before her eyes.

"Maester Duvall knows Maester Pycelle – and Pycelle works for Cersei."

"Maester Duvall has debts, having lived under a different name in King's Landing. We don't know who, but someone must have told the news to those he was indebted to, which meant that he needed money to pay them, money he didn't have, as a Maester on Tarth."

"Debts Cersei was willing to pay, or so we reckon now."

"Maester Duvall likely poisoned your Father to let it look like he died of old age so you had to take over Tarth as its last heiress, so that you would stay there and never leave again."

"Cersei didn't expect Jaime to travel after you, which meant that she still feared that you would take him away from her one day. The paranoid witch she is, she instructed Maester Duvall to make sure that you would marry soon, but that didn't happen."

"She went as far as to instruct Duvall another time to do you harm. The vials which are supposed to make you sleep have Essence of the Nightshade in them, among other things. I saw a man who knows all different kind of herbs about the matter, and he confirmed that it does not only make you sleep, but also clouds one's mind."

Her mind drifts further as she nods at one of her guards to take Maester Duvall, Maester Tar, Maester Dice, whoever he may be, and bring him to the dungeons, though she doesn't feel her lips parting, her finger moving, doesn't hear her voice saying. She only sees Tyrion as he goes on retelling her lifestory from a new perspective, a darker one, sympathy and sadness in his eyes.

"She knew it was risky, but she was willing to do it if that meant a marriage for you to be arranged, knowing that you wouldn't break your oath once you vowed to marry a man. She made matters worse by driving more and more wedges between you and my brother."

In the distance she can hear the old Maester shriek like a goddamn woman, but she doesn't listen.

"Your letters weren't lost, as you know, just as you are aware of Cersei having been behind them resurfacing. We reckon that Maester Duvall and Maester Pycelle took them away. Cersei had the maid who was to tend to you put the letters on Jaime's study and then call you forth. She was also forced to spy on us on the day of the fair, which only added to Cersei's jealousy, seeing you two close. The girl is with us here, so that you know, though I hope that you see that she only moved on her Queen's command and not out of malice or evil spirit."

Brienne nods faintly, her mind a blood-smeared blur.

"Jaime and I did what we did during the ball to prevent you from marrying someone Cersei had set out for you, fearing that it would be someone who would mean you harm, like Dorian Styde would have. He is no good man, believe me that much. Since you were so set on marrying, Jaime went as far as to disgrace you in front of him, after you refused to leave. He never wanted this to happen, but we saw no other way."

"Cersei arranged for all of this to keep Jaime away from you."

"And now that you are wealthy, my Father has ever the more interest in Tarth. While Cersei is the driving force, I fear that if you were to marry me, it'd be a threat to your life, because the Lannisters would seek your wealth, even if that meant to take your – and likely my life as well along with it, which is why I propose to you so I do not propose to you."

"I am so very sorry."

"I really am."

"... Brienne?"

She turns her head, forcing her eyes back to Tyrion's to meet.

"Did you…," Tyrion grimaces, and she nods, "I understood… So… So I reckon that you need refuge now, am I correct?"

"It would be most kind of you," Tyrion grimaces. "We took quite a risk to come here, and by that I mean not just myself, but also my squire Podrick, and the young girl Steph who was forced into Cersei's services. We feared for her life, had we left her in King's Landing, which is why we took her along."

"She is not to blame," Brienne exhales. "If they want to stay here, I won't deny them. The same is true for you of course."

"Thank you," Tyrion bows, his voice giving away the honest gratitude along with it.

"We have another passenger," Tyrion goes on.

"Jaime," she breathes.

"Yes," Tyrion nods frantically, though he can't read her expression. This is an expression she never wore before.

And this scares him for some reason.

"Can you get him for me?" Brienne asks. "I need to talk to him."

"Of course," the younger man replies.

"Thank you, Tyrion, and _really_ thank you for… your honesty," Brienne says. "For telling me the true story at last."

"I'm still sorry for… all that's happened," Tyrion tells her in all honest.

"You are not responsible for it. You just happen to bear a name," Brienne shrugs. "And tell a tale you didn't write."

Tyrion nods sadly before he exits and makes his way back to the ship, finding Jaime now on his own, pacing in the cabin nervously. At some point he just couldn't keep up the small-talk with the two other passengers and went to the cabin to have some privacy, which resulted in him circling like a lion in a cage. Once he catches sight of Tyrion, he almost jumps, "Well?"

"She wants to see you," Tyrion says.

"What did she say? How is she?" Jaime asks nervously.

"She seemed rather _stoic_... I can't say what's going on with her, though," Tyrion replies, offering a sympathetic smile. He would like to tell his brother more, but that is all he knows for certain. "But Duvall is in the dungeons already."

"At least something," Jaime grunts.

"Just go and see her, _now_ ," Tyrion urges him. Jaime grimaces, but then makes his way outside, sinking his heels into Tarth's soil, something he didn't quite believe in till last, and soon finds himself in front of the doors he didn't dare to see another time either. He hurries up to the castle, the one place he used to call home other than Casterly Rock when still young.

He pushes the door open to find Brienne standing in the great hall. She seems taller than he remembers her to, though her eyes are blanker than he hoped they would be.

"Brienne," he breathes, the words catching up in his throat.

"Jaime," she nods curtly.

"So Tyrion told you…," he means to say, and she cuts him off with a flat voice, "Everything, yes."

"I am so sorry. I didn't know till last. And I was too foolish not to see it," Jaime lets his head hang low.

"Enough of that," she then says, making him frown, "But…"

He thought he would either have a sword by his throat or her demanding an apology from him by now, not cut him off mid-sentence and say that it is enough.

Because that can't be enough.

"I am informing you that I hereby make a new oath. After it turns out that Cersei is responsible for my Father's demise... _murder_ , I vow to take my revenge on her," Brienne says with such fervour that it takes Jaime's breath away for a second.

"Brienne," Jaime gapes at her.

"Blood is paid with blood. That means that I will do anything within my powers to kill Queen Cersei Lannister," Brienne says with determination in her voice, anger pooling out of her eyes like pink sapphires.

"Brienne, that would be suicide. They would kill you before you'd ever make it to the gates of the Red Keep, please," Jaime argues, trying to reason with her, cold fear clutching at him with sharp nails at once, forcing him to shiver. He thought she would jump him, not to get the idea to jump the next best ship to a one-woman mission to kill the Queen herself.

But then again, Brienne always was the one to surprise him, for good and bad alike.

"I will rather go down fighting than sitting back and allowing her to twist her lies – at the cost of good people like my Father was! It is enough!" Brienne growls.

She seems on fire now.

"Brienne," Jaime tries once more, but fury long since overtook her, "I will do anything within my powers to bring her to an end. If that means that I die, then so be it."

"What about Tarth? What about its people?" Jaime argues.

"Well, Tyrion said that he will seek refuge here. I don't think I have much use for Duvall anymore, so I will offer him his position to make the political decisions, leaving Rogar as the official Lord of Tarth, since he bears my name," she replies promptly. "But without political power. A figurehead, pretty much, so my Father's name will live on at last."

"Brienne, please that is madness," he looks at her.

"I don't care for what it is! I will take my revenge on her. I will avenge my Father. I have waited long enough, _slept_ long enough, not knowing that I was caught up in a nightmare she dreamed for me!" Brienne says through gritted teeth. "That is not up to discussion."

"It has to be, now listen," Jaime argues vehemently.

"No, _you_ listen! She destroyed my life. She destroyed me. Because she was jealous of our relationship. And for that she killed my Father! For that she manipulated me! For that she had me poisoned, made me ill! Left me isolated and alone! Tore my knighthood away from me! For that she tore me to pieces and left me a shadow of the person I used to be! For that she made me make myself a goddamn whore who'd sell her name and body to _any_ willing man, only for a child in the belly and some faint hope of my father's forgiveness!" she curses.

Jaime looks to the side, tears threatening to fall as the weight put on her life comes down on him once more. This is all because of her, because of him, because of their sin.

"She destroyed my life. She destroyed all dreams I ever dared to have. And you dare to tell me that I should not take my revenge for all the suffering she caused? All the lives she damaged, if she didn't take them? That I should let her walk away unscathed?!" she growls, her eyes glistening in the dim light of the hall.

"It will be your death," Jaime warns her.

"I am not afraid of death," Brienne replies resolutely.

"Killing her won't bring him back," Jaime argues.

"But it will bring back my honour! I rather die a knight than a witless old maiden, sitting on her damned sapphires like a hen on her eggs! This is my life and I will end it however I please! She won't get that last morsel of myself now, too!" she growls, narrowing her eyes.

This has gone on for far too long.

This must end.

She must end.

And Brienne is willing to take the reins into her hands again, if only to ride them both off a cliff.

"I beg you, Brienne," Jaime tries once more, but she doesn't listen, "No."

She takes a moment, sucking in air, her voice suddenly a lot softer, and a lot more vulnerable, too.

"Now I know. I understand that you didn't mean for this to happen and that you were not involved in... this," she says, her voice almost dying out as she adds. "You _are_ my friend."

He looks at her, stunned.

"And because you are, I grant you the choice now," she goes on, forcing the words out of her mouth like tar through her teeth.

"Choice?" he grimaces.

"I will avenge my Father. I will take a ship to King's Landing and I will do anything I can in the hope that I will see her head dangling from a pole, bloody and distorted and ugly. The choice you have to make is to either let me go – or to hinder me," Brienne speaks, having made up her mind.

"Brienne, it will kill you," Jaime repeats.

Doesn't she listen? Doesn't she hear?

"If you hinder me, you do so because of your oath to the King," Brienne says, licking her lips. "You are one of the Kingsguard. That means that you are obliged to protect the royal family. And I still hold true to my promise to you: I shall never make you break your oaths. You know my intentions now. You know that I have a plan to become a Queenslayer, which means that you as a man of the Kingsguard know that I pose a danger to her now."

"I left the Kingsguard, so listen," Jaime replies, making her blink at him, stunned, "You _what_?"

"I left the Kingsguard. I left," Jaime repeats. "That was the only way for me to come here."

"So you mean to say that you won't stand in my way of executing her?" she questions, trying her best to keep her voice steady, though one can still hear a tremor.

"No," Jaime replies.

This is not at all how they had it planned.

What happened to Tyrion's plan?

They usually always work, by the Gods!

"Then that changes nothing to me. You still have another oath to fulfil, and neither will I make you break it. I will kill her if I get a chance to, though," Brienne says, her eyes on fire.

"Please, don't do that," Jaime argues. "We have a plan, alright? Brienne, we have a good plan. Tyrion made it, do you understand? Tyrion makes good plans, you know it! We have a plan that guarantees all our safety, and _more_. If only you'd listen to me and let me explain it to you, then..."

"Does that plan involve her death?" she questions, unimpressed.

"No, that's the one thing we can't do, _because_..." Jaime says solemnly, but she won't hear him. She can't.

"Then I don't care about your plan either. I will grant you all refuge, that is out of question, but I want my revenge on her. I must take it. I want blood," Brienne says, her voice rolling like thunder. "I need it."

"Brienne," Jaime tries once more, but she only shakes her head, "Given that you will keep me from it… and since I don't want us to fight each other like barbarians, I ask you for a duel. My revenge against her protection."

"Brienne!" Jaime holds up his hands.

That's not at all what they had planned.

That's not like it at all.

"I told you once that we all have fears, we fear the absence of other people. And since I understand that there is one person's absence you cannot stand, I think we are to meet on the battleground at last," Brienne says, her voice no more than a whisper, a fiery breath like that of a dragon.

"Brienne, I implore you," Jaime tries once more. "Hear me out! Just hear me out!"

"I never told you the other half of it, about the fears… If we lose a person whose absence we fear most… that is the moment revenge is born. That is the moment hatred is born, out of that dark, black pit with boiling stones and poisonous fumes. So here we stand, I, who lost the person whose absence I always dreaded, am to take my revenge, and you, who fears his love's absence most, will protect her with all your might," Brienne says, her voice quivering despite its strength. "Well, at last it seems that we are to write a knightly tale after all, if only for one final battle."

Jaime just stares at her.

"Brienne, please! _Hear me out_!" Jaime begs her, but she just shakes her head, "I have heard enough. Your plan could contain the Seven Heavens, I don't care. For as long as I don't get to make any attempt to get my revenge on her by blood, I give a damn. I give you one hour to make up your mind. If you want to kep me from going to King's Landing, you will find me by the old willow. I will be there."

"Brienne," Jaime tries once more.

"Go now," she hisses.

"Brienne," he says again.

"Go!" she cries out. Jaime forces out a shaky breath as he turns around and leaves the hall, feeling dizzy.

That is not the ending they had planned.

Not the one they dared to write in their notes.

Suddenly it seems as though they will really just repeat the actions of Ser Gabriel and the beggar girl, he fears.


	38. Yield

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking arond, and sorry for more drama, but this HAS to be, because... because I say so. In any case, here the next chapter so that you aren't left in the suspense of the great finale!

* * *

Jaime finds himself making his way up the mount he ran up and down alongside Brienne so many times that he lost count of it. He can still recall to the last detail how they had chased each other, tumbled in the grass, wrestled, fought, called each other names, pulled each other's hair, laughed, giggled, were simply happy. He can see the rocks they sat on to whittle or toss pebbles, trying to outmatch each other with each throw. He can still tell the tree they used to sit under, Brienne reading while he tried to get her attention. Where they had sat to watch the setting sun dip the Sapphire Isles in all colours of the spectrum. Where both dozed off as the wind whistles through the leaves, in bright day and as night drew close. He can still see the one spot under their favourite tree where there is still no grass, after all this time, since Brienne had always pulled out the straws to sprinkle on his face when he had dared to lean against her stomach and started to snooze as she read a story to him.

And here he is, years later, and his heart beats out of his chest, but his heart stops the moment his eyes set on Brienne, dressed in her battle clothes, the ones she wore underneath her armour back in King's Landing when they did the dance of swords and forgot the world, which reminds him more than vividly of the circumstance that this is no longer their simple childhood, no longer this delightful, weightless time when their eyes were still bright and unclouded by intrigues and a snake in a lion's skin. The sun doesn't shine the way he remembers it to.

It's about to rain.

The thunder rolls in the distance already, painting the sky grey and white, with a tint of red in them, as though this was a foreshadowing already.

He hates rain, for the record.

"I see you chose to wear what fits you best," Jaime says with a crooked smile that doesn't reach up to his eyes.

Brienne just looks at him grimly, not daring to reply.

"I'm glad for it," he adds.

Because only like that does she look like herself.

Like that, she is fierce.

"Have you made up your mind? Will you let me go – or not?" Brienne demands, unimpressed.

"If you listened to me for only a minute, then…," Jaime tries once more, but Brienne is too far gone in her rage, too far gone in her need for blood and gore and revenge and all the things that eat her from the inside out, "I don't care for your plan, however great it may seem. For as long as I don't get my shot of taking a shot at her, I cannot care. I mustn't. I want my revenge. And if you decide to stand in my way, then I will have to move past you, or through you. So the question remains: Will you let me go – or not."

"Brienne, it will be your death, don't you understand?" Jaime tries another time.

But that woman is blinded by rage and regret that even the face of death does not scare her anymore, he has to realise.

She wants to laugh at the devil's face, or so it seems, wants to spit him, or rather her, in the face.

And that wish deafens all sound, all words, and only lets those inside that matter to her now.

Yes or no.

"Yes or no," she repeats, unimpressed.

"Brienne," Jaime bites his lower lip. If she won't listen to him, he can't convince her, by the Gods.

"Yes or no," she keeps questioning.

"I cannot let you go to King's Landing to kill Cersei," Jaime says.

"If that is so, be free to choose whatever weapon you need, or use your own. Whatever fits you best," Brienne nods at the small arsenal propped up against the willow.

"Brienne, we don't have to do this, so listen," Jaime insists.

"What weapon do you choose?" she asks.

"I don't want to fight you," Jaime argues. "Listen to me."

"Then let me go to King's Landing to have only one last try at knightly honour," she shrugs, unimpressed.

"I will not let you go on a suicide mission," Jaime replies.

"Then pick your weapon," Brienne says again, unimpressed. Jaime shakes his head.

This mule of a woman shall be damned!

Though he can't really say that he blames her for it.

Rage boils cold.

Rage tears away any sane thought.

It burns like Wildfire, maybe even worse.

And the song only leaves one's head once blood is shed as a sacrifice.

Lives have to be taken to satisfy the Beast of Rage and Revenge in its endless hunger, for it accepts no other repast.

"Then I will go ahead," she says, picking up her sword, the one with sharp edge, the one that will travel through flesh if it hits, in contrast to the blunt swords which they made sing during the melee, during the one real dance they ever shared.

"Brienne, we really don't have to do this, we don't, if only you let me…," Jaime tries another time, but Brienne seems deaf. "Get in position."

"Damn it! Just give me one minute!" Jaime insists another time, but that is when she simply charges him, forcing him out of the realm of words into the world of action at once. Jaime's hand travels to the sword around his waist, his fingers tightening around the golden handle as he pulls it out.

It seemingly is destiny that it will be a sword battle at last.

Jaime barely reacts in time to parry the blow, a raw kind of force transmitted through their clashing swords, shaking his body entire.

Jaime does his best to dodge – while Brienne gives everything she has into every of her blows, making her sword sing the song of blood so loud that it comes out as a shriek.

"Fight back," she growls, swinging the blade once more. Jaime pushes her back, but still doesn't charge her, "Brienne, please. Let me explain it to you."

But she just runs up to him once more, swinging the sword above her head to bring down on him. Jaime barely manages to parry the blow.

This is brute force mingled with despair.

Jaime pushes her away, letting out a feral growl – and this time, he approaches and swings the sword at her in short succession, with the kind of precision he fostered over the years of service for the Kingsguard.

"You can't beat me," he says between the blows. "Not like this."

Brienne tries to gain momentum, but fails. He brings down the sword another time, with the swiftness and elegance of a cat, but with such a force that Brienne loses her footing and hits the ground. Jaime has the sword at her throat, towering above her, kicking her sword out of her hands, far away out of her reach. Brienne is stunned for a moment.

She should have trained more over the past years. He may have taken off from the Kingsguard, but the Kingsguard wasn't taken off of him.

To Jaime's shock, Brienne suddenly cranes her neck, etching closer to the blade against her throat, drawing her own blood, "Do it."

"I don't want to do that, Brienne," Jaime swallows, withdrawing the sword slightly, taken back by the desperate fire in her eyes that seems to allow no place for physical pain anymore.

"I will keep fighting until you do," she growls, looking like a lynx, a lion, a bear, a dragon all at once.

She stares at him, blue crushing against green. She waits for the metal to run into her flesh, for blood to come.

But suddenly she hears the sound of metal hitting the ground, a dull thud. It takes her mind a moment to register that Jaime dropped his sword right next to her on the ground and turns around, taking a few steps back.

"Pick it up," she shrieks, nodding at the sword next to her, the one with a lion on the handle.

"No," he replies simply.

"I said pick it up," Brienne growls.

"And I said no," Jaime tells her again.

"Damn you, Lannister! Pick it up and fight me like a man!" Brienne curses, gritting her teeth. "You owe me that much to fight me properly!"

"No," Jaime shakes his head.

"I will pick up that sword and slay you with it," she warns him, trying to stir the reaction she needs.

She needs blood.

She needs it.

"Then do it. If you want blood, take it from me, but I won't hurt you more than I did already," Jaime says to her.

"Fight me like a man!" Brienne bellows, not knowing what else to do or say. "Or let me kill her."

"No," he replies again. Brienne lets out a snarl.

She needs blood.

She does.

She really does.

"Pick it up or I will," Brienne tries again, but nothing. "Jaime, pick it up, by the Gods!"

"No," he insists, his voice suddenly so calm that it makes her hot blood run cold again, making her shiver.

"Pick it up!" she cries out, struggling back to her feet. She takes out the dagger she always kept over the years, with the pearl at the centre. She hoped she wouldn't ever have to raise it against him, but perhaps that is the Gods' way of mocking her one last time for her sins and wrongdoings, for being the ugliest thing the world has ever seen.

"Do you want to kill me, really, Brienne? Is that what you want?" he questions.

"Of course I don't _want_ that," she curses, closing her eyes.

"Then why are we standing here?" he demands.

"I told you," she grits her teeth.

"I don't want to kill you. You don't want to kill me. Still, we are standing here to do just that," Jaime argues. "I am done fighting, Brienne. I won't fight you, not like this. I won't let you escape into your twisted version of an honourable suicide to… run away."

"Run away?! _Run away_! I am standing my ground against her! I am avenging my Father!" Brienne insists.

She wants to defend her honour.

She doesn't run away like a wounded deer, like she did back during the ball.

She is a knight again, right?

If only a bloodied version of it, but still.

"If that is what you think, but don't expect me to help you on that bloody quest – because I won't ever hurt you again," Jaime says resolutely. "If you need to take a life, take mine."

"Pick it up – and fight me!" she curses nevertheless.

Jaime comes closer, his lips a thin line, breath hitched, but eyes shining bright with determination.

"Pick it up," she demands, her voice quivering.

That's not how it is supposed to go.

She wants to fight.

Not just stab him, now from the back or the front.

He can't make her stab an unarmed man.

That just isn't fair!

Nothing is fair.

Jaime just keeps walking towards her, not making any attempt to gather the weapon again, leaving her with more defencelessness than she felt the moment he kicked her sword away, more defencelessness than during the ball, the funeral...

"Pick it up, or else I will kill you with the dagger at an instant," she threatens him, her voice betraying her.

Jaime walks on nevertheless.

"Please, Jaime, don't make me end it like this," she finds herself begging.

Brienne doesn't know what she braces herself for when he is right in front of her. Her mind screams at her to take the dagger to have her chance of revenge, a chance of Cersei's blood drying on her calloused fingers, but her body doesn't move.

She can't.

Brienne thought she could, believing that this would be the only service she could still make him as her friend – to offer him a choice, the choice she was denied by Cersei. She wanted to fight him one last time, and let the Gods decide, instead of the woman who took so much from her.

And, to be honest, she hoped that he would have done it back when he had the blade to her throat. Because Brienne seemingly can't follow through with it after all.

She is seemingly not a brave enough sword.

Just a stupid goose, wearing an armour.

No matter how much she hates Cersei, no matter how much she wants her blood to spill over her, wash her free of the guilt weighing her down ever since her Father passed – and she blamed herself for it… she can't hurt Jaime, the one person she ever dared to let close, the one person who broke past her shield, past her armour, and saw her underneath that metal, underneath that ugliness, and didn't pull back, didn't withdraw, always came back.

He was her sweet dream of a maybe, however foolish that is.

He was her illusion of a knight who would come to rescue her from conventions and rules set up by ancestors and social norms beyond any man's or woman's reach. He was her illusion of a knight she always wanted to be, with the chest full of ideals and oaths.

The one man who tricked a King to stand by her side as she stood in front of her father's grave, who held her hand.

The one man who dared to learn from her, who let him teach her things, who looked past her body, her broad shoulders, flat chest, her hair of straw, who even dared to call her beautiful in all earnest once.

The one man who ever asked her for a real dance, the dance of swords, who didn't hold back because she was a woman, but for a knight, no sword, a knight.

Her first. And second. And third. And fourth. And fifth.

And even blood can't wash that away.

One of her knees gives way and sinks into the soil, forcing her to feel Tarth itself knocking against her body, shaking her to the core.

The dagger falls from her numb hand.

The pearl lands in Tarth's soil without a sound.

And it is only at that instant that she feels arms around her, warmth pressing against her, a touch she almost forgot about in her other-induced slumber.

Jaime holds on to her as tightly as he can, hoping that she won't pull another dagger. He holds on as tightly as she did back in that cave, for the many times he wasn't there to keep her upright, for the many times he almost pushed her out of his mind because he wanted to put her on a pedestal to marvel at from a distance, in the pathetic hope that her honour would serve as an example for his fractured honour – and by some miraculous twist of fate, restore it.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice a tremor. Brienne starts to squirm in his arms. She has to get away from that warmth, or else...

She chose bloody revenge.

And revenge is not warm.

It's cold and unforgiving.

"Protecting the woman I love," Jaime replies through gritted teeth, holding on the best he can.

"That won't keep me from taking my revenge on Cersei," Brienne argues, the flames still consuming her.

Because that matters.

It should matter, and it should matter more than a woman's foolish feelings that force her to yield when she never yielded in a lifetime.

Embraces don't last forever. That embrace in the cave only proved it. They break apart and are swept away. No matter how long they held each other, in the end they broke apart and away.

Yet, she is shoved deeper into the cave of her memory, before the tear-filled embrace that didn't hold through time, back to the one moment where time itself did not exist.

His lips press against hers with a force that burns right in her chest, hotter than the cold Wildfire of revenge and gore.

"I protect _you_ , wench. I won't let you kill yourself," Jaime says as he breaks the kiss, looking at her. "Do you understand?"

"What?" she stammers, still stunned.

"I get it that you must avenge your Father, but not at the cost of your own life, Brienne, please. For that it means too much to me. For that I love you too much, wench," Jaime tells her. "You being a bloody bullhead notwithstanding."

It's odd at times. He is not the worst with words, but only at this instant does he find the words to say to her, the true story to tell, the tale he kept hidden from himself, deep within his heart, for way too many years he let darkness consume him.

"What do you expect me to do? Sit still and accept it?" Brienne argues vehemently, her voice regaining some of its force.

Because she needs the blood.

She made a vow.

A vow she sealed with blood.

A vow that can only be undone by blood.

"No, but death is not the proper punishment," Jaime replies.

"Because you love her after all," Brienne retorts, shaking her head.

Even now...

"Because it'd mean _your_ death, wench! When do you get that into your thick skull?! We can't kill Cersei because she is untouchable in King's Landing. We can't kill her without dooming ourselves," Jaime tells her resolutely.

He would kill her for her, he really would, but nothing good would be born out of it.

"I don't care for as long as she is dead," Brienne argues vehemently. Because no matter how her body gives in to that embrace, her mind still boils with the cold of revenge.

Something must be done.

This sin must be retaliated.

This debt must be paid.

"Right, because you'd be too dead to care," Jaime huffs. "There is another way to fulfil your vows – one that doesn't cost you your life, though."

"And not hers either, as you said," Brienne retorts.

"That is the one condition," Jaime shrugs.

"Because she is your Lady, if in secret," Brienne looks to the side, but Jaime cups her chin to redirect her gaze back to his, "No, because you have been my Lady ever since you jumped out that window when we first met – and I was too much of a bloody, witless fool not to realize till it was too late, and then was too much of a coward to act upon it once I knew. And because that is so, we cannot harm her without cutting into our own flesh, into yours, however much that pains us both."

"She is your other half," Brienne shakes her head.

"And she can keep my half for as long as you take the other," Jaime replies.

"You made an oath, Jaime. I meant it back then already, I don't want you to break your oaths, not even for my sake," Brienne insists.

"You made a new oath, and so did I. I am no longer a man of the Kingsguard, I told you," Jaime reminds her.

"You vow for life. You may run away at this moment, but you are a man of the Kingsguard. Until the day you die," Brienne shakes her head.

"And Jaime Lannister died," Jaime tells her, making Brienne frown at him, not understanding.

He is here and alive.

"I left the Kingsguard without claiming heritage on Casterly Rock. I am no one now. A nobody, without title, without riches. All that you see in front of you at this second is all that I am. Jaime, just Jaime. A man who betrayed many ideals, who didn't stand true to his word, who was blinded by darkness and didn't realize the beauty of the light you emit. I am a man without name and nothing more than a questionable sense of honour. I stopped being a knight, a true knight, long ago," Jaime tells her.

"So did I," she shakes her head solemnly.

She is no knight, if she ever was.

"You are the best knight the world's ever seen. You are virtuous beyond reason, wench," Jaime exhales. "You never broke your vows. I did. Too many to the count. Especially those that really matter."

She looks at him.

"After your father died, I wanted to prove it to you, that I could be the man you saw in me, back in that cave. I wanted to be this man, so badly. A man like out of your stories, this shining knight who'd never break his oaths, who'd keep you safe, but I couldn't and I wasn't," Jaime tells her.

Brienne stares at him, so he goes on, "But if you give me a chance to, I will prove to you that I can be the man you deserve. I am nobody now, but I can become someone again, but only _with_ you, wench."

He knows now. Why it didn't work before. It was because he parted from Brienne in his attempt of being the knight from her books. He couldn't be the knight she saw in him because she didn't see him anymore.

Jaime Lannister has to die, and only Brienne of Tarth can bring him back to life.

"My life is worth nothing for as long as you don't give it reason, that's the truth, however frustrating that is, because _it is_ ," Jaime tells her. "Needing people is hard enough, needing _you_ is almost an impossible task, wench."

"Jaime," she exhales.

"I love you, Brienne, you and no one else," he tells her, the honesty pooling out of his eyes, out of his very soul.

She wraps her arms around him, her armour of hatred and uncertainty coming down all at once. Brienne heavily leans against Jaime, feelings breaking loose within her that she kept contained behind metal in years.

She tears off her gloves to feel his skin, his hair, him, presses her forehead against his, "And you're sure?"

"I haven't been more certain in my entire life," he replies resolutely. "And you know how much of a bullhead I am."

"Good, for I'm, too," she breathes, pressing her lips on his, needing that contact, needing that warmth to wash the rage out of her body and leave it to the waves of the relentless sea. Jaime smiles against her teeth.

Others just have to admit their feelings and bid forgiveness, he has to die to be reborn.

Others have to go to their knees and offer a rose, he has to deliver himself to her sword and her will to convince her of his love.

Others dream of kisses, seated on velvet cushions, wrapped in fine garments, they are dirty and bloody, mud sticking to their bodies, wet sea air dampening their hair.

But since when did they ever really care about what others made of them, right?

If only he had done that years ago. He could have gotten lost in that touch for so long already.

But then again… James and Britt took years until they realized the reason for their quest, too.

And it is only the now that matters.

She suddenly pulls away, looking at him with huge eyes, "But what about… my Father? About…"

"Revenge will be taken, but just another way, if you let me," Jaime assures her.

She looks at him. Jaime runs his hand over her cheek, "Do you trust me?"

"… Yes," she says after a while, meaning it finally again.

That is the one trust she thought was broken, but was in fact not. The one thing that is absolute.

"Then simply trust me that we'll figure it out. I promise you, the debt will be paid, but not with blood, neither hers, nor yours. But for that you have to trust me, just trust me, Brienne," he says.

"Alright," she nods. "I trust you."

He presses his lips on hers once more.

Love is seemingly always fight, at least between them.

Both had to let go of their shields to show what is underneath, pull up the visor to reveal their eyes to each other's mercy.

They had to have a truce for trust to be reborn.

They had to yield to win.

To rewrite the ending, their ending, wherever that will be now.

Though Jaime hopes that it will be in the arms of the woman he loves, for they are strong enough not only to hold him, but also to bring him to the ground.

A nobody and a girl who begged for something all her life, just not for money but for love, united in the death he chose for himself.

They seemingly live in stories after all.


	39. New Stories

Author's Note: There, the day has arrived at last. This is the last chapter! Meep!

I hope you'll like it till the end.

You were an awesome readership, and I hope I can keep you around for more stories, but always start at the beginning ;)

* * *

The moon stands high over King's Landing. The Red Keep is illuminated like a crystal.

Royals from all of the regions serving the Iron Throne have gathered to celebrate the day King Robert won the Rebellion against the Mad King.

Queen Cersei, as beautiful as ever, sits next to the Iron Throne, sipping wine, her features not only as fair as porcelain, but also just as stiff.

The Queen is, to the day, childless, and only the Gods will know how much that emptied her out, not having a single thing to love more than herself, more than the world itself. For it seems that only a child would have given her reason for a love beyond reason, a fulfilment that no man's arms, no title, no throne could ever give her.

While no one knows for certain, it is suspected that King Robert, after a hunting accident, has trouble having children, if it isn't impossible for him – and the Queen is whispered to have the best years well behind her, too.

Obviously, this doesn't help her mood tonight, or any other night.

The guests are roaming the spacious room, chatting, drinking, eating, while Cersei is busy pouring acid over them with her eyes as she sits next to her husband.

Cersei doesn't know what happened to her life. She is Queen, and still she feels imprisoned, hollowed out, cut in half.

The ship that sailed to bring the little monster to Tarth to marry the giant cow sunk after it left Tarth, short before it was to reach a port. For all other people, the case was quite clear that the Lannister dwarf died on the boat, drowned like a rat, after the Lady of Tarth had officially refused his asking for her hand in marriage. It is said that she married a commoner without riches instead, not wanting to have her wealth torn away from her at last.

Cersei believes that the Imp is not dead, whatever the whispers may say. She sent out many ravens, talked to many shadows to search for signs, but Tarth became a nest she no longer manages to hatch eggs in, or send a new bird to reside there. Whatever bird she sent that way came back without news, without a single straw of the nest. And at some point she was out of resources and will to try. Cersei then heard rumours from the main lands that the dwarf was seen in Harrenhal, then Riverrun, then Storm's End. Others whispered about an Imp owning lands in Pentos now, while most still tend to believe that the best he could have found was seaweed as he sank to the bottom of the endless sea, paying the debt to his father at last, who told him in private that it was only him being born a Lannister that kept his father from tossing him in the sea the day he was born.

Maester Duvall came back to King's Landing one day, tied up in a bundle, sent along on a merchant's ship from Tarth. He sought out the Queen, hoping to get her help, but Queen Cersei has better to do than help vultures with broken wings, and thus sent him away without regrets. For all that is known, he fell into the hands of the men he once was indebted to, bearing another name that was tattooed on his forehead when he came to King's Landing, the words "I am Jaden Tar/ Dice" making him easy prey. No one knows if he is dead or was sold into slavery, which likely leads to the same result.

She should probably laugh at the little monster's letter that arrived short after the Imp had taken off from Tarth, in which he stated that since a Lannister always pays his debts, and his debt, in Cersei's and Tywin's eyes, always was that he took one Lannister's life, one name off the list, he found it appropriate to remove himself from the list, giving back the name he took – in the hope "to sleep with as many whores as possible, and so the Gods will, die with wine in his belly, and a beautiful woman wrapped around his cock". It appears that he wanted to use the ship to have a swift escape, but then it sunk, and likely along with him. Though Cersei sees him dancing in front of her ever so often, like a little ghost.

The raven with the letter came from Gulltown. According to some rumours, a dwarf was spotted there, too, but no one could find the Lannister spawn Cersei wanted out of her life for all her life anyways. Not that she ever shed a single tear about his disappearance. And in fact, she rather has him as a ghost than alive somewhere, laughing at her expenses.

And Jaime… her other half just disappeared without a word, took one half of her along with him. He never wrote to her, didn't ask about the child she told him that she'd have from him, with him.

And that left a rupture within him that even a Queen's life did not fill. She was split and left in half.

Cersei is certain that the Imp took him on the ship with him, but she never got proof for it, and her husband is too lazy to care, or so it seems. He appears to be very much delighted that her plaything is gone out of his sight, and to get rid of the backstabber of a knight her brother was to his understanding.

Her father was enraged, to say the least, upon hearing the news about both their disappearance if not death, but to Cersei's shock, he vowed no revenge and did not send out the hounds to find their trail, since he said that Tyrion likely died either on the ship, or is gone for good, and that Jaime knows how to stay hidden if he doesn't want to be found, if he didn't share Tyrion's destiny at last.

As she had to learn, men are all mice in the end, without teeth and claws.

Because Robert and Tywin both just seem to accept it that Jaime is either dead or hidden, on Tarth, as she suspects to the day. Though Robert took more gloating in it than the Lord of Casterly Rock did, since with this ship sank the Lannister empire from his side of the family tree, and Tywin will likely have to give over to his brother Kevan once he passes. That is unless Cersei, by some wink of fate, ends up pregnant often enough to give him one heir who is not needed for the throne, or he'd overcome his grief to have another heir himself.

But his love for his first and only wife is but an eternal flame.

Tywin seemed little enthusiastic about the prospect of Cersei still bearing children, stating only that she'd grown older faster than he had hoped. The head of the Lannister clan grew even grimmer over the last years, seeing his House slowly but surely crumble, as the mines are hollowed out and exhausted with every day passing, and him approaching his grave with fast strides, with no child available to continue his legacy. As it seems, even one of the most powerful and influential men in all of Westeros is crushed by a lack of trust, a lack of love for his children, to keep them close to him when it matters.

Because power doesn't bind the way trust does.

Cersei looks on, a frown forming on her full lips.

For a moment, she thought she heard her brother's laughter.

Maybe a ghost?

A vengeful spirit to haunt her?

She grimaces as he sees a man of his stature and his walk as he now talks to Renly Baratheon. The hair is rather short and he has a short-trimmed beard, but… but it can't be.

"… So? Have you gotten used to your new life yet?" Renly asks, sipping from his golden cup with an amused smile.

"It feels like it's been decades already. At some point I can't remember how my life was any different," the other man replies.

"You mean to say you miss your old life?" Renly asks.

"Is she standing behind me?" he questions.

Renly chuckles to himself. She grabs him by the neck, making him cringe, "Do you, _dear_?"

"Ah, you know that I am absolutely devoted to you, dear _est_ ," he says.

" _Devoted_? I haven't noticed that yet," she snorts.

"Oh, you hurt me, my heart! Oh, the pain," he shrieks, clasping his chest, earning himself a jab in the side, "Stop that. You are acting like a child."

Renly still chuckles softly as he watches the two fighting and bickering.

"Are we amusing you, Lord Renly?" the other man asks.

"Why yes," the Lord replies.

"If only she actually had any sense of humour," the other man rolls his eyes.

"I have enough sense of humour to put up with you," she argues.

"Oh, please, you don't just put up with me! Only last night you proved how much you enjoy my company…," he means to say, but that is when she pulls the hairs in the back of his head, nudging him in the side with her elbow, "Ow! Now _that_ hurt!"

"I must apologise," she says to Lord Renly apologetically, who only shakes his head, "There's nothing to apologise for. In fact, I'm glad to see how well you get along."

" _Get along_? We want to kill each other half the time," the other man argues.

"For as long as you don't, I suppose you get along after all," Renly shrugs his shoulders.

"That is very true, Lord Renly," she agrees.

"Why don't you ever use that sweet voice on me?" he narrows her eyes at her.

"Because you're you?" she snorts.

"Valid enough, I suppose," he shrugs, tilting his head as though contemplating.

"So? Have you reached a decision yet – about the new treaties? My advisors force me to ask these questions," Renly rolls his eyes.

"You will have to talk to our minister of finance about the matter," the other man replies.

"Where is he, by the way?" Renly frowns, looking around.

"I reckon already under some table after he drank his head sore," he snorts.

"Didn't you tell him that he was supposed to keep it low tonight?" she exhales.

"Do you still think that he listens to me in any way?" he huffs, gesticulating. "He didn't since he was _that_ small."

"Not really. I don't listen to you either," she shrugs nonchalantly.

"Well, then I suppose I will see if I can find your minister of finance somewhere," Renly winks at the two.

"Tell him to quit the wine," the other man calls after him.

"And the booze," she adds.

"I will see you later," Renly says, waving at them as he goes.

"Of course," the two agree.

"He will just take his Loras to have some secret fun with," he huffs. She nudges him in the side forcefully.

"Will you stop that?" he narrows her eyes at him. "You should behave yourself."

"Will you?" she retorts.

"I am not the one nudging," he insists.

"No, you are just the one bantering like a lad," she argues.

"You love for your boyish charm after all, admit it already," he argues.

"You wish," she rolls her eyes.

"How are you feeling?" he whispers, now perfectly sincere.

"Better than I thought," she shrugs, taking a quick sip from her wine.

"How about we…," he means to say, but that is when a voice rings out from behind them, "Jaime?"

The two turn around to an ashen Cersei, who still stares at the two figures in front of her as though they were ghosts haunting her.

"That is the name, Your Grace. Can we help you by any chance?" Jaime asks nonchalantly, bowing slightly.

"Jaime… what are you…? You are… we thought you were dead," Cersei says, her voice quivering.

Here he is.

Others may not recognise him with the hair and beard, and without armour, but she will always.

"We who?" Jaime frowns.

"Father, I? The Lannisters? Your family?" she looks at him.

"I am no Lannister," he shrugs.

"You are…," she means to say, and he completes with a swell of pride, "Lord Jaime of Tarth."

"You…," she blinks at him, her mouth opening and closing like that of a fish out of water.

"I think you know my wife," Jaime gestures, one hand against the blonde woman's back. "Lady Brienne of Tarth."

"Your Grace," she nods curtly.

"How were we not informed about this union?" Cersei demands.

"If the heiress of Tarth decides to wed someone who is without social standing, a complete nobody, as she may because of her apparent wealth, then she doesn't have to let anyone know, except for a septon and friends and family," Jaime shrugs.

"We _are_ your family," she insists.

"I have only one family, and that is my wife, and my brother," Jaime replies. "As I said, I am Jaime of Tarth, not Lannister. That man died, for all I know."

"Jaime… what are you saying?" Cersei looks at him, still perplex.

"The Jaime you know is no longer," he says.

"I will tell Father," she threatens him, feeling confidence wash back into her. She can reveal this conspiracy, she can...

"Do it," he shrugs with nonchalance, his features tensing not for a split second. "Though he can't do much. I was not named as his heir by any chance, which would be the only way for him to get a hold of me. I was a man without title and without name after I fled from some bad place, and am now the Lord of Tarth. Even the mighty Tywin Lannister can't do much about it."

"But my husband," she goes on.

"I fear that he won't be very surprised," Jaime shrugs. "For he knows."

It cost him a lot to turn to Robert for a favour, but it was much easier once he spoke to him, now that he saw in the King no longer a rival for his affections, since his heart already travelled to Tarth, and only a man he never really learned to respect beyond a certain level. And the same seemed to be true for the King.

Robert wanted him gone and Jaime wanted to go.

The deal was sealed without many words needed.

"What?" she stares at him.

"Do you know how rich we are? We could buy the enitre Narrow Sea with the sapphires of Tarth. Do you really think your husband would let go of a deal that promises him not only Tarth's trading routes which prove to be pivotal for Westerosi shipping, but also a nice bundle of pink sapphires for his pains? Not to mention his straightforward delight for us getting rid of the Kingslayer for him. One can never know what such a backstabber would do. So it's better that we killed him."

Robert's price for his 'death' was not at all expensive for all they care, and it offered them the protection they needed to shoot Cersei's birds from the sky. Not to mention that it pays off to be close friends with his brother after all. Robert was ever the more glad to finally put a leash on his wife, whom he thought had gone way too far in her ways, after Jaime and Tyrion, short before they left, told him but a few of the stories she wrote behind his back. He was obviously fed up with her believing herself absolute, free to do whatever she desired, since her decisions had consequences for politics and for trades to be left out since Tarth was left out of the equation, thanks to her doing. As the King put it, she'd "learn her place beneath" him, or rather, that he'd make sure of it. Which is why Cersei found herself in the situation where no whispers reached her anymore, and she almost became deaf over the years, no longer able to affect Westerosi politics in any significant way beyond the Red Keep.

And of course Tyrion was glad to contribute a list of the Queen's spies he knew about, for the King to keep, so Robert may keep a closer eye on what she does behind his back without his knowledge, which made the task a lot easier.

Cersei seemingly dug too deep and fell into the self-dug hole after all.

"Then why are you here?" Cersei asks, her voice coming out croaked.

She had envisioned scenarios in which she would catch them. She wanted to fetch a ship to Tarth and see for herself, but she was intercepted, stopped, found an invisible leash around her swan-like neck, and was pulled into the Red Keep. She had dreamed about the images of her screaming out Jaime's name to the man's face to reveal that he was hidden beneath a cloak, beneath a hood, and that this would bring him back to her.

But here they stand now, not afraid, not shaking of her revenge.

Why aren't they afraid of her?

She almost had the cow destroyed once.

They should be shaking.

They should be begging.

They should try to flee.

But they don't.

"Because Lord Renly was so kind to invite us to join his entourage," Jaime says. "And we cannot say 'no' to the man who is one of our greatest partners in terms of politics and economics for our isles."

"So you are just here to _what_? Mock me?" Cersei snorts.

"Your Grace, there are many things I would want to do with you – after all we know by now that you did to her and to me," Jaime tells her, his voice and face suddenly very dark. "Mocking you is the least of my concerns."

"And all you have is to come here and laugh at my face?" she huffs.

"I am merely fulfilling my oath to her," Jaime says, gesturing at Brienne.

"What oath?" she frowns.

"That I would get my revenge for my beloved Father," Brienne says.

"Oh yes, since this meeting here will leave me in shatters," Cersei rolls her eyes.

"We all know it won't," Brienne replies.

"Well, then why this little show here?" the other woman demands.

"I wanted to see for myself," Brienne shrugs.

"See what?" Cersei demands.

"You. To see that there is nothing we can do to you that you didn't do to yourself already," Brienne shrugs. "You already _are_ in shatters, very much the way you have left me over the past few years."

"Right. You will have to live with the sins committed for the rest of your life – and you will have to suffer the consequences. A loveless life next to a man you never learned to love, presumably without children, despite what you may have said a long time back. Till the day you die, you'll be thinking about all the maybes and what ifs of the life you are stuck in. And all that while we will enjoy our new lives without regrets," Jaime tells her.

"Without regrets? Don't make me laugh," Cersei lets out a feigned laugh that comes out rather strangled, though.

"There are things that I regret, but they are a thing of the past, as are you," Jaime shrugs. "I was reborn, and I like my new life a lot better."

He only cares for his old life in terms of the memories he shares with his loved ones.

The others are just faint shimmers of a life that fades away each day more.

"The day will come that you'll realize that you traded a diamond for a shard of glass," Cersei warns him.

"Gladly, I like sapphires more than diamonds, and we have a whole bunch of those," Jaime shrugs. "I find them much more interesting for their variety and colour."

"You will always belong to me, even if you don't want to believe it," Cersei snarls.

"I belong to her and no one else," Jaime says resolutely.

"And you just stand there and smile at me smugly?" Cersei narrows her eyes at Brienne, who replies simply, "No, not smugly."

"Then what? Satisfied that you gained a small victory over me? I am more than you will ever be. I am Queen," Cersei tells her. Brienne draws a little closer, "I honestly thought I would take out my dagger and murder you when I was on my way here to King's Landing after all this time, but now that I am here… I can't help but feel pity for you, Your Grace."

"Pity? From _you_?" Cersei cries out in small, flustered.

"Yes, pity. Pity that you went as far as to sell your soul because you feared that I would tear him away from you, when in fact… that is what eventually united us and made you fade out of our lives, just so that you stand here now alone while not alone, haunted. You took my Father from me, but with it, you took your own fortune away. So yes, I can only feel pity for you," Brienne says. "You, as a Lannister, will have to pay your debts, just that you won't pay with riches, but with pieces of yourself, until nothing remains of you. You will live out the destiny that I was torn away from at the last moment."

"I don't need your pity," Cersei growls.

"In fact you do. If you didn't have my pity, you would have my rage," Brienne says, her eyes suddenly full of fire that a tremor goes through Cersei.

"And trust me, you don't want to suffer her rage," Jaime adds with a malicious grin. "You may remember Jaden Dice. He suffered only a morsel of it, and let's say it didn't go well for him."

"So what comes after this small victory you gained for yourself?" Cersei huffs.

"We will go on with our lives, while you will keep walking circles," Brienne says, and Jaime adds, "However far your dear husband's leash on you lets you run your circles, Your Grace."

She glares at them.

"This is a last goodbye," Jaime shrugs.

"The oath is fulfilled," Brienne adds. "I had my chance of blood... and choose not to take it."

"I could make your life living hell, you know that?" Cersei narrows her eyes at him. "I could chase you, to the rim of the world and beyond."

"We smoked out Tarth by now and got rid of all the little pests you sent or fed there. And since we live on an isle, we know what comes to the ports, you may have noticed. All this time you didn't manage, and you won't in the future. Try to plot against us – but you will only end up failing, and run your head against a wall until you succumb to unconsciousness. You will not succeed. You will lose even more than you already did," Jaime tells her. "We have allies. And just let me tell you that Robert won't give you an army to fight us. He didn't to this day, because you are _just_... his woman, who seemingly still has to learn her place."

"You will regret this," Cersei grits her teeth.

"Never," Jaime replies with a small smile.

"Goodbye, Your Grace," Brienne says.

They leave Cersei standing there alone. Jaime grabs Brienne's hand, holding on tightly, one finger sliding over her wooden ring he made for her, bearing her father's Evenstar.

"I suppose now it's my turn to ask you if you are alright," Brienne grimaces at the firm grip against her palm.

"I just want to make sure I don't lose you in the crowd, my lady," Jaime replies, flashing his typical smile, though it comes out a bit strained.

"As we all know, I stand tall above them all, so you will hardly miss me," Brienne argues.

"Oh, I will always miss you, you know that," he replies. Brienne means to say something else, when a voice calls out, "There you are!"

"There _you_ are! We were looking for you!" Jaime rolls his eyes at Tyrion, the obligatory cup of wine to his lips, the hair a lot longer, and a full beard around his mouth.

"I had a nice little chat with some merchants, you should be proud of me," Tyrion argues vehemently.

"Is that so?" Jaime huffs.

"Of course. I take my work very seriously, almost as seriously as wine. Though I think I can be proud of you, too, seeing Your Grace boiling like a firepit of Wildfire over there?" Tyrion muses, looking at Cersei as her face reddens with unshed tears and fury.

"We just did what was necessary," Jaime shrugs.

"How satisfying was it?" Tyrion asks with a grin.

"Words can't describe it," Jaime replies.

"That's what I thought. So the oath is fulfilled, Milady?" Tyrion asks Brienne, who gives a nod, "Yes."

"Let us rejoice!" Tyrion says, taking another sip from the wine.

"Are you very lonely or do you think you can bear without us?" Jaime asks.

" _Lonely_? I can well entertain myself on my own," Tyrion huffs.

"I think your sweetheart might have some different say about that," Jaime chuckles.

"I spared Leah a lot of trouble by telling her to stay back home," Tyrion grunts.

"She spares us a lot of trouble because she keeps you at bay," Jaime argues.

Leah is one of the commoners of Tarth, a young girl with fair hair and edgy features, safe for her full breasts, and a clever, foul mouth. She is the vintner's daughter. It's likely needless to explain what those two had in common in taste right from the start. Though Leah is about as feisty as he is. She gave him chase for almost a year before Tyrion was allowed to call her his sweetheart at last, not to mention how much money he left in the wine tavern to make her talk to him.

They have a very unique kind of women on Tarth, so either brother had to learn.

"Well, you could have let Pod come along to keep me company, but you even denied me that bit," Tyrion snorts.

"He is supposed to prove himself as deputy of the Guard. The boy was knighted not long ago, he needs the training," Jaime argues.

While he was the one to knight Pod at last, Brienne was the one who was most invested in his training. After all, Brienne will always be the better knight of the two by virtue. Even though she and Jaime often end up with a truce when they fight, with blunt swords only, of course. Pod proved to be an able man who can do a lot to help Tarth's militia, now Guard, even if he still has no clue how to skin a hare, something that is still to Brienne's very frustration, after she had taken him out into the woods to train his survival skills.

She is a tough fight, but an even tougher master.

While Pod never complained, no one can tell how many times he earned himself a slap in the neck or being pushed into the dust for not catching on.

Steph has well settled into the life on Tarth, too, after she apprenticed to the old blacksmith of the isle. She reminds the Lady and Lord of Tarth a lot of Brienne when she was still young. While she still wears dresses, except for during work, she does not hesitate to push men into the dust, and has not set eye on any man for herself. At some point it might be that she is one of the few girls who will stay a maiden with pride, and forge iron marvellously, finding fulfilment in the fires of the ovens and the results of good and hard work.

"In any case, since my heart is heavy with feelings of loneliness, I have any intention to have another round of wine," Tyrion huffs.

"Will you watch her boil?" Jaime chuckles.

"Until her skin peels off," Tyrion grins maliciously.

"Oh my," Jaime makes a face.

"Hey, I don't get to talk to her like that, as you said, because she'd likely toss me around like a ragdoll, so let me enjoy at least that bit," Tyrion argues.

They agreed beforehand that Tyrion was supposed to keep away from the Iron Throne, which is why he mostly busied himself further away, talking to merchants and drinking cup for cup of wine. It's curious, really, how all used to recognise the Imp and the Kingslayer from far away already, but now that they died to all other people, no one even seems to care for the resemblance ghosting through the Red Keep one last time. Their names remained a faint echo, whizzing through the hallways of the palace, whispering through the streets of the city, but their faces faded away beyond anyone's recognition or care, deep down into the waters until sapphire blue covered them and smoothed out their features, pulled them into the sea's embrace.

What is dead should stay dead.

The Imp and the Kingslayer wouldn't ever be missed, so who in King's Landing would wish to revive them?

"Have your fun, dear brother. We will be back shortly," Jaime says, squeezing his shoulder once.

"Do you realize that you always just leave me standing somewhere?" Tyrion calls after them.

"But we always come back!" Jaime argues as he pushes Brienne forward. Tyrion chuckles softly. That is true indeed. After all, the two stood true to their promise of his happy ending story, too, taking him away from a family that never wanted him, and gave him a purposeful task, a purposeful life, a life not filled with loneliness but togetherness, a life of belonging somewhere and to more than one somebody.

And all it took for his freedom was a ship that was made to sink within other people's view, and a few whispers to spread the rumours to make him a ghost people would go looking for in the shadows, and not the brightly shining sky above the Sapphire Isles. And a new name, after he had given his back to those who always begrudged him his name, his life.

As it turns out, dying is not the almost bad, if you do it right.

Tyrion smiles as he watches Cersei sister burn in her apparently violet velvet dress.

"Oh, the irony," he chuckles to himself, taking another sip of the wine, which is not nearly as good as the one back home.

Oh, the hellfires are far better in reality than in the story of the women with the voice of honey who almost managed to corrupt Ser Gabriel completely.

Meanwhile, Brienne and Jaime made their way outside to one of the balconies, glancing out into the night.

"So? How are you now?" Jaime asks with a grimace. He was afraid till last that something would go wrong about the plan, but he had promised Brienne that she would get to see her, talk to her one last time.

He promised her that she would get to sink an invisible dagger into the Queen's heart to draw invisible blood to satisfy the monster of rage and revenge for all times.

"I am good – and no, that doesn't mean that you get to tell me that you told me so," she replies, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Alright," he chuckles softly.

"I always thought it'd be much harder, after what she did to us, to him…," Brienne exhales. Jaime grimaces, tightening his grip on her hand a little. No matter what happens, that is a pain that won't ever wash out of her, no matter how many times they swim in Tarth's waters or fight or laugh.

Though Jaime hopes that if he is to step before the man one day when in the Heavens, so the Gods will, that Lord Selwyn will say that the sacrifice for her happiness was worth it in the end. Because that is what she is now, happy, at least Jaime makes any effort to ensure it, mending piece for piece, smile for smile.

That is his vow to her after all.

And oaths are the most important thing in the world.

"When I first saw her, I wanted to put a dagger through both her eyes," she goes on in her blunt voice that holds no mercy.

"Oh my," he grimaces. "I thought I took the dagger from you?"

"One," she replies with a shrug.

"I tend to forget that you use clothes to hide weapons where others hide their coins," Jaime chuckles softly. "But you are sure you are alright? Or are you already having doubts?"

"I don't know, I just always think back to that ball and how strong she felt to me back then. Even if not physically, I had the feeling that she suprassed me in all other matters by far. She stood above it all. That picture haunted me, that she still could keep that up, having taken his life, but then I saw her here today and… and she seemed so small, so lonely. She looked like me back when I lost my father, safe for the tears, but just as small, just as pathetic," Brienne grimaces, eyes drifting off into the night.

Even King's Landing seems smaller than she remembers it to be.

"You were never pathetic, my lady," Jaime argues.

"Inside my head, I was. And she looked just like it… and… now I honestly feel just pity for her, not in the sense that I would want to help her, but just… I feel bad for her that she is seemingly... _just_ this," Brienne grimaces.

"And she's never been any more," Jaime agrees.

Just like he hasn't been until he made the choice for his new life and let Brienne make him more.

"And how do _you_ feel about it?" Brienne asks, studying him wth a sympathetic smile.

"I didn't think about her ever since you granted me a stay in your life," Jaime replies.

"Our life," she corrects him.

"Yes, our life indeed," he agrees. "I suppose I just follow your dear Father's advice."

"Which is?" she tilts her head.

"To counter the bad with kindness and good. And by the Gods, what we have is so good that it undoes even her evil, at least in my view," Jaime shrugs.

"Yes, I think you're right and I think that he'd be happy now, no matter the circumstance," Brienne then says, a small grin tugging at her lips.

"For as long as you're happy, he surely is," he nods, for some reason feeling a little lighter again.

In fact, he feels lighter with every day passing, the weight of sin being lifted off of him for living a good life and trying his best to be the man she deserved for much longer than he can ever repay her.

She agrees with a small hum, flashing a smile.

"What is it, wench?" he studies her curiously, knowing that smile which means that she has something on the tip of the tongue that means to slip out into the world. He learned them by now, each and every one of them, studied her features, and knows them by heart now, because that is where he keeps them.

"He'd also be very happy since I fulfil my oath to him at last," Brienne says with a smile.

"Which one?" Jaime grimaces.

"Not the revenge," she replies. And Jaime's eyes open wide as realisation dawns on him, "… You mean…"

"Yes," she nods. Jaime just smiles at her, pulling her closer to him, "Why, why didn't you say anything before?"

"I wanted to be certain," she shrugs.

And she proves the world wrong yet again, proves wrong all the hushed words of adivce and threats of her body being broken beyond repair.

"Why didn't you say it to her? Her face would have been priceless," Jaime argues.

"I don't want that part of our happiness to have anything to do with her. We _literally_ started a new life without her now, and as such I want to keep it," she replies. Jaime kisses her deeply as the emotions pour down on him like waves. He pulls away slightly to see her eyes shining brightly as she asks, "Are you happy?"

"No," he replies.

"Oh?" she tilts her head.

"I'm blessed," he says. She smiles at him.

"Do you want to leave – because I want to leave, preferably for home, but I don't think we can sail back to Tarth before morning rises," Jaime makes a face.

"Not without Tyrion," she argues.

"Never. Oh, he'll be thrilled once we tell him the wonderful news," Jaime muses. The little brother teased him often enough when he would finally get to have some nephews and nieces to play with.

"He… already knows," Brienne shrugs. Jaime turns to her, gaping, "You told him before me?! Oh, my heart, that really hurts."

He grabs his chest, but she pulls his hands down with a roll of her eyes, "Stop that, I didn't tell him."

"How else would he know?!" Jaime insists.

"He said my breasts got bigger and assumed that I was. What was I supposed to do? Lie to him?" she argues. "You know that I'm not good at it."

"Oh, that little gremlin! I told him that your breasts are my business alone!" Jaime growls.

"Now calm yourself," she grunts, nudging him slightly.

" _Calm myself_? You betrayed me, wench!" he cries out.

"But there is something I didn't tell you yet that even Tyrion doesn't know," she argues.

"And that would be?" he looks at her expectantly.

"I will let you choose the name," she replies with a grin.

"You said that you'd rather die than let me name any of our children, to quote you 'if it ever came to it'," Jaime argues.

Because he told her again and again that they didn't have to rush anything, that only their happiness mattered now, and that, so the Gods will, this would become part of their happiness, then it would, and if not, then not. And now it seemingly does.

"Don't you want to? I can very well take it back," she argues. Jaime grabs her by the arm, flashing a smile, "No, no. I'll name the child."

"Then stop pouting like one," she tells him.

"I don't _pout_. I'm happy. I am blessed, I am… I am speechless," he argues.

A child, his child, their child, not marked by sin but by her virtue.

Maybe the Gods are not the almost bad after all.

"Oh, I thank the Seven!" she chuckles. "The day has come at last!"

"Who could have guessed that we'd get so much in return for our troubles?" Jaime exhales.

Who could have guessed how much bliss he would get for all the sin he committed and helped commit? Sometimes, the Gods seem to show mercy after all, or maybe they just forget about those who die and secretly sneak back to the realm of the living.

"I certainly didn't, till last," she shrugs.

"Brienne of Tarth, you don't just make me someone, but the happiest man in all of Westeros – and beyond," he says, kissing her.

"You are not the almost bad yourself," she chuckles. He pulls her close, "Yet another new life starts."

"A new adventure," she agrees.

"Jumping into the next story, are we?" Jaime grins.

"If you are?" Brienne tilts her head.

"Always one step behind you, wench," he says.

"That's good to know, Goldie Curl," she winks at him.

"Let's fill some more pages, shall we?" he grins.

"As many as we can," she agrees.

And above their heads shines the one star unmoving, their Evenstar, because only the stars that stay in the starry firmament are the ones they wish upon.


End file.
